Just Along for the Ride
by Perspex13
Summary: What happens when Castle takes the lead on a stalled investigation. Changed the rating based on PM comments. Some disturbing crimes referenced but nothing on camera.
1. Chapter 1

Just Along for the Ride

Rating: T (references to disturbing crimes)

Timeline: Sometime in Season 4

Summary: What happens when Castle takes the lead on a stalled investigation.

Disclaimer: I do not own Castle or the characters used in this story.

**A/N: I toyed with the idea of setting this story in the Castle PI window, but opted to nestle it in the pre-Caskett period in Season 4. Maiden voyage, please be gentle.**

* * *

"Well, look who decided to show up," says Esposito, as Castle enters the condo, the site of the double homicide that Beckett's team caught to start their week.

"Must've taken a little extra time to pick out that outfit, right?" This from Ryan; Castle would've fired off a retort, except that the others in the room – including Lanie and the uniforms as well as Espo and Beckett – shoot Ryan odd glances for commenting on someone else's sartorial choices.

"Sorry, got caught in an early morning meeting," Castle instead responds, while circling the two bodies laid out in the main room of the open-plan condo. The first was laid out next to a dining table, his torso soaked in blood but seemingly otherwise unmarked. The other body is prone on the floor, face down, halfway into the next room. The ragged hole between his shoulder blades makes Castle suspect that the Lanie will prompt a gruesome sight when she requests that the uniforms roll the body over.

Beckett shoots him a sidelong glance, taking in his attire. A full suit this morning – no slacks and blazer – and a tie that would probably cover Espo's rent for at least a month. "Nice of you to join us, Castle. We were starting to wonder if you were going to grace us with your presence this morning." She ponders the suit, and that he hadn't mentioned any meetings on the agenda. His choice to ignore the comments on his appearance seems odd, as he's usually prompt to preen.

"And that's my cue to hand this over," says Castle, delivering a tall takeout cup of coffee to Beckett before passing the cardboard drink holder to Esposito for him and Ryan to each take a cup, too.

"Hey! Only his fourth year and he starts bringing us drinks, too. I guess he can stay and look around." Esposito's all heart this morning.

"Looking sharp, Castle," says Lanie. "I was about to share some info about our vics, here, but I find that the lack of caffeine is impeding my thought process. No, no, just teasing," she says as Castle offers her the cup that he had kept back for himself. "Though you can make it up to me next time we're at the Haunt. Anyway, two DB's to start the day. No ID on either body. This one," she leads, pointing to the body next to the table, "was slumped in a chair at the table when we arrived. Preliminary COD is internal bleeding, from a single stab wound on the right side of his sternum. I'll have to take a look back at the lab, but it looks like a funny angle of entry. My best guess now, and don't hold me to this, is that he was sitting in the chair playing solitaire," a quick glance confirms the stacks of playing cards on the table, "when somebody – probably his buddy there – walked up behind him and stabbed him from above while standing behind him. I'll check this out at the lab. Preliminary time of death is sometime from 9 to midnight last night."

The detectives shift position to look at the second victim, while Castle imagines the stabbing victim in place, playing solitaire at the table with his back to the kitchen. Flipping cards while someone else ranges around the condo, familiar enough to not focus on the presence, but sufficiently unfamiliar to have not expected a sudden attack. Castle looks again at the victim. Caucasian, maybe a little shorter than average but solidly built. Inexpensive clothes and a shaggy mop of dark hair in need of a cut. "No wallet, or no ID in the wallet?"

"He had a roll of bills in his pocket – probably about $200. Otherwise, no wallet or anything else in his pockets," Ryan replied. "And, of course, he had the .38 that was on the floor next to him."

"Nothing in the condo with identification? No bills, subscriptions, prescriptions?" Beckett follows up. Esposito ranges over to a uniform to task him with rooting around the place in search of a name, any name. Meanwhile, Ryan jumps in: "The condo itself is owned by Meridien Ventures Limited. A corporate holding, obviously, but it's registered in the Caymans and it'll take us some time to track down an account manager or owner. We've got calls into the local property management service, but no response yet."

When Castle and Espo step toward the second body, joining Ryan and Beckett, Lanie resumes her rundown. "Vic number two. Given that there was a knife next to his hand when we arrived, he may also be your guy for taking out vic number one. Preliminary COD on this one is easy – single GSW to the back, between the spine and left scapula. Let's roll him," she says to the techs who have lined up a body bag next to the prone victim. As the body is turned over, Castle's earlier thoughts prove accurate: where there should be a solid chest, there is instead a ragged, blood mess. "Through and through. I'll leave you folks to find the bullet, but I suspect it'll match the weapon found next to the other vic. TOD is the same as the other – 9 to midnight."

Excepting the exit wound, Castle notes that this vic looks similar to the first. A little taller, a little more muscled, and sandy brown hair. Rough stubble from two or three days away from a razor, but generally unremarkable.

"So, Number Two here walks up behind Number One while he's playing cards. He comes over the top with his knife," Esposito acts out while speaking, "then starts walking into the next room. But Number One isn't dead yet – hurting bad, bleeding out, but strong enough to pull a gun. From where? He's got the strength to get off at least one shot," he mimics the action with his right hand, "drops Number Two, but then he's gone himself. Does that work?"

"I've got oil on his abdomen – looks like he had the piece tucked into his waistband, covered by his shirt and jacket," Lanie responds.

"Anything in Number Two's pockets?" Castle inquires. A quick check reveals another pocket of cash – crumpled bills this time, but nothing else. Castle nods, hums, and taps his chin with his finger. "Has the condo been cleared?"

"Bro, of course the condo is clear. The ME can't be here, you aren't supposed to be here, until it's clear." Esposito scoffs, while Ryan gives a confirming nod in the background, slightly offended by the question.

"What are you thinking?" asks Beckett, still circling the bodies and running Esposito's scenario through her mind.

"Someone else is still here. Can't you feel it?" Castle responds, before striding across the room. Ryan follows, while Esposito rolls his eyes and checks in with the uniforms looking for any ID in the place while the techs start to load the bodies onto gurneys, the photos and in-place assessments having been completed.

After a few minutes, Ryan returns alone. "Clear. Again." He confirms. Meanwhile, Beckett's head pops up and to the side, as she notes Castle's absence and the lack of noise from elsewhere in the condo. Like a parent who knows that silence presages the worst kind of trouble, she seeks out Castle, finding him one room over, standing in place and staring at a bookcase.

"Castle, now's not really the time to be checking out the literary holdings," she chides. Surprisingly, this elicits no response. Instead, it's Lanie's voice that chimes in. "Kate, we're heading back to the morgue," she says as the gurneys are jostled and pointed toward the door.

Before she can respond, Castle's strong "No" rings out. All eyes turning toward him, Castle continues staring resolutely at the bookcase. Just as Beckett is about to ask what's going on, he speaks again. "Ryan, close the door to the condo and don't let anybody leave yet. We're missing something important."

"Castle, we've got to release the scene. The condo has been cleared – twice. We've got two bodies, two weapons. We can stick around, but we've got to let Lanie get going on the bodies," Beckett responds, not unkindly. There are certainly some loose ends to tie up, some things that don't make sense yet, but she's hopeful that this will end up being an uncomplicated case where the two victims are also the killers.

Still staring at the bookcase, Castle is slow to respond. "No, this doesn't make sense. We're in an expensive condo in a nice building, but neither vic had the keys to get into this place." Ryan and Esposito shoot a look at each other with eyebrows raised, and start to look around for keys or discarded clothes in which they might be found. "There is no sign of struggle. Instead, it looks like One was ignoring Two, sitting at the table playing cards. Two kills him, or thinks he does, without a fight and perhaps without realizing that One is packing. But Two doesn't leave. He heads this way, away from the restroom. While undoing his belt."

Several heads swivel towards the gurney. Lanie draws down the zipper, slowly revealing Number Two from head to knees, and gives a curt nod confirming Castle's observation regarding the belt. Heads turn back to Castle, who continues to assess the bookshelf.

"And, finally, the floor plan here doesn't make sense. Walk around – there's square footage unaccounted for. I don't suppose we have blueprints?" Castle concludes before lapsing back into silence.

Just as Beckett is about to interrupt the quiet, Castle steps decisively to the shelf, where he pulls down a book. A look of consternation flits onto his face, brows scrunched and lips puckered.

"Come on, Sherlock Mansions," chides Esposito, "what's with the bookshelf? Were you really expecting a secret passage or something?" He looks to Ryan to get some attention for the new nickname he's coined while the two uniforms chuckle.

Castle remains intent on the bookshelf and again reaches out, more tentatively this time. Rather than coming free of the shelf, the book tips while a discernable metallic click sounds out. Placing his hand on the side of the bookshelf, Castle pulls, and the shelf pivots away from the wall, revealing a plywood door, roughly four feet tall and wide, padlocked shut.

"What the hell?" mumbles a uniform, looking at a chagrined Esposito. Ryan looks to Castle, who is now crouched next to the door with an ear cocked. "Castle?" Beckett calls out in a low voice, her hand already on her sidearm.

With a finger to his lips to encourage silence, Castle points back to the kitchen. As the team assembles there, Castle whispers. "I didn't hear anything, but I think we need to check. Do we need a warrant or can we go in?"

All eyes turn to Beckett, the senior officer in the room. "If we suspect someone is in duress, exigent circumstances allow entry. The door is locked from the outside and Number Two was undoing his pants, walking towards the bookshelf and away from the nearest restroom. I think we can make a case for cutting the lock and checking it out," she replies, not entirely comfortable with the implications of the scenario but clearly willing to make the call.

"We shouldn't cut the lock," Castle responds. He continues, cutting Ryan off as he begins to speak. "We've got two guys here – neither with keys to the condo or to this lock. They're sitting here, and at least one of them is bored. Sound like guard duty? But not trusted with access, and with good reason," he says as he uses his thumb to point over his shoulder to the gurney holding Number Two.

"That means that there is at least one more player here, someone senior to these guys who has the keys. We pop the lock, check it out, then clear out and leave someone behind. The big boss won't know if we've found the room or gotten inside until he can get someone inside to check. We just sit back and wait. But he might be watching now, so we should have Lanie hold tight on leaving until we know what's going on."

Beckett nods and turns to Ryan. "You have a lock rake with you?" she inquires, referring to a tool that would allow them to open the padlock and allow it to be reused. He shakes his head and Castle cuts in: "I can get the padlock, and I don't have a weapon. I'll take care of the lock and open the door from the side. You can all cover the door."

"I'd wonder about your uncharacteristic display of good sense and caution, but I still remember the tiger, too," Beckett replies, with a ghost of a smile. It blooms into a full smile when she sees Castle's eyes drift to her handcuffs.

"No kibble today," he replies with a grin of his own.

_Some poker player, _Beckett thinks. _He probably doesn't even notice that he's rubbing his wrist_. Getting serious, Castle continues: "I'll stand where I can get the door shut again quickly if I have to, since we don't have any convenient freezers to climb in an emergency. Still, we should have Lanie and the techs back near the kitchen when this goes down."

Lanie's crew backs into the other room, near the exit to the condo. Castle snaps on the gloves that will prevent his fingerprints from contaminating the lock (a little late, considering his pawing at the bookcase) and slowly approaches the plywood door while the detectives and uniforms array themselves in an arc focused on the door.

Beckett covers her eyes and grumbles as Castle withdraws two picks from his wallet, thinking of the paperwork she'll need to complete and already coming up with semi-plausible explanations about why their civilian consultant carries B&amp;E tools on his person.

Castle's already been at work during this mental assessment of the administrative work to come, and she's surprised to hear the lock click open so quickly. Apparently, Castle is much more proficient with picks than with combination locks. She looks at him to see him looking back, a gleam in his eye either showing his pride at the quick entry or that he knows what she's thinking. Probably both.

Guns are drawn as Castle carefully and quietly pulls the lock from the hasp and sets it on the floor. He places himself against the wall directly next to the door, and slowly, slowly pulls it slightly ajar while peeking inside.

Then, to Beckett's shock and dismay, he pulls the door open and darts inside, earlier thoughts of good sense and caution long forgotten.


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: I do not own Castle or the characters used in this story.

_Guns are drawn as Castle carefully and quietly pulls the lock from the hasp and sets it on the floor. He places himself against the wall directly next to the door, and slowly, slowly pulls it slightly ajar while peeking inside. _

_Then, to Beckett's shock and dismay, he pulls the door open and darts inside, earlier thoughts of good sense and caution long forgotten._

* * *

The hidden room must be small – Castle's on his knees and his feet are still sticking out of the small doorway. But the rest of him is obscured by the door, leaving the arrayed law enforcement personnel unable to assess his situation or what's in the room.

"Castle! Get back!" Beckett calls out, but there is no reaction. In the silence that follows, Beckett thinks that she can hear murmurs from behind the door. She signals to Esposito and Ryan, who take flanking positions with weapons extended as Beckett starts toward the door. She hasn't taken more than a step before Castle's ankles start shifting back. He's starting to exit the doorway, moving backwards, but at an awkward, halting rate. As he backs out, more of him becomes visible, from ankles to lower legs.

As Castle's main body comes out from behind the door, there are gasps from Lanie and, Beckett suspects, the uniforms as well. Pressed to his chest, cradled by his arms, Castle is sheltering a young girl. She can't be older than five or six, a small child with a wild shock of blonde hair, matted and unkempt. Her face is buried in Castle's neck, and he's talking to her, continuing the murmur that Beckett had noticed earlier.

Castle shifts his weight back over his ankles and rises awkwardly, unwilling to take his arms away from cradling his small passenger. He continues to whisper soothing words to her while he turns to face the others. Without stopping his flow of words, he uses his right hand to signal to Beckett – a closed fist to indicate the lack of anyone else in the room. Beckett nods, signaling Ryan and Esposito to pull the door open all the way and verify. Castle steps past them, heading toward the ME.

"Lanie, will you check her out?" Castle says as he approaches. This plan goes awry quickly, as it's clear that his charge is unwilling to release her hold on him, crying and trembling as Lanie tries to coo to her while lifting her away from Castle's chest. Realizing that she's at risk of further traumatizing the poor girl, Lanie opts to check whatever she can while Castle holds on.

While Lanie orbits Castle and performs her assessment, Beckett and the boys approach. "I take it you saw her, and that she was alone, before you decided to dive in?" Beckett asks with a tone somewhere between highly annoyed and slightly indulgent.

"It's a dad thing, I guess," Castle shrugs, or tries to. "I think her eyes were bigger than the room. She was scared and alone. I was afraid that the guns would scare her more, or that something might go wrong if she tried to bolt. I'd apologize, except that I'd probably do it the same way every time."

Beckett takes in the scene – her partner cradling a frightened child who has clearly been locked away in a small dark room for who knows how long. She wonders if Castle is aware that he's gently rocking from side to side in a nearly figure eight motion, soothing the girl with both quiet words and a gentle sway. As has happened before when she's seen him with Alexis, Beckett is struck by the contrast of Castle's roguish reputation and his doting care for daughters, actual or embraced. With this thought in mind, she turns back to business.

"Time to talk about next steps. If Castle's theory about a boss is right, we need to get her out of here without anyone seeing her," Beckett starts, but Lanie continues "And right to the hospital. I think she's been in there for at least a few days. She looks dehydrated and she needs a complete physical."

Lanie pauses, choking on the next bit. "I mean a _complete_ physical, considering Number Two." Heads hang in shame and horror at the implications, as a gloomy silence descends on all in the condo.

"Child Protective Services will need to be involved, too, but we've got to keep this on the down low," Ryan adds. "They'll need to assess her situation and her … mental state," he struggles, waving his hands while trying to articulate how such an ordeal might affect one so young and worried about what she might understand of what's being discussed, if she's even paying attention. Her face is again buried in Castle's neck, so it's difficult to gauge any reaction.

"Here's my suggestion," Castle offers in a soft voice. "It's not great, but it might be the best we can do. I'll take her to the ME's van with Lanie, acting like a tech. As much as I'd like to get her straight to the hospital, we've got two problems. First, she's latched on to me, which is fine and leaves all of you free to pursue the case. But if I were her parent, I'd be very uncomfortable with an unknown man in sole possession of my daughter. So, I need to stick with Beckett or Lanie until we can find someone else to ride shotgun or take over."

"Second," Castle continues, "someone might be watching. If we send a vehicle straight to the hospital, we give any observer a reason to think that one of vics survived or that we found this little angel. So, I head to Lanie's office with our little stowaway. Beckett, you get a female officer to pick us up there and we'll head to the hospital, where I hope CPS can meet us. What happens from there will be in the hands of the doctors and counselors."

"We need to limit who knows that we found her and keep any chatter about it off the air," Esposito chimes in. "I'll pull the uniforms and techs aside and put the fear of god into them to ensure that we've got no leaks. Castle's plan brings in more people – another officer, CPS, and the hospital staff. And Gates. But, I think those are all necessary inclusions, we just have to be careful about communications and ensure that there are no leaks."

Heads are nodding, but Ryan interjects. "We need at least one more person drawn in. I'll set up here for now, but we'll need someone here inside in case the big boss sends someone or looks in himself."

"Do it," comes the definitive response from Beckett. "Espo, ensure that everyone here understands what's at stake and the cost of leaking." With a wolfish grin, Esposito turns to gather the uniforms and techs.

"Ryan, thanks for taking the first shift. I'll head to the precinct and go right to Gates. We'll get someone to join Castle and someone else to relieve you. As soon as you're free, head back to the precinct. By then, with any luck Lanie will have completed her assessment and we can figure out if our homicide is closed or whether we pursue that while also working on her mystery."

"Castle," Beckett continues, "anything you can learn from the doctors about her identity would be helpful. We still don't have ID on the vics or the condo owner, and we're going to need to establish her identity, too. I assume that Gates will call in the FBI. With any luck, that won't blow the security of our plan."

While Beckett works out the details of the next steps with Esposito, Ryan, and Lanie, Castle wanders over to a gurney and addresses one of the technicians. After quashing what look to be initial objections, Castle acquires two things to make his escape: a white lab coat (accessorized with a stethoscope – why would a coroner's tech have a stethoscope?) and a large duffel bag of medical supplies.

Taking his prizes into the next room, Castle sits on a couch and continues to hold the young girl with one arm while dumping the contents of the duffel with his other. He lays the empty duffel out on the couch, then starts talking to the young girl, whispering to her.

Beckett and Lanie both pause to watch the interaction: the little girl doesn't say a word, just stares directly at Castle with impossibly large, brown eyes. They can't make out what Castle is saying, but the little girl seems to relax, then finally nod.

Beckett realizes how precarious this whole situation is, and how much worse it could have been without Castle. Would they have found the girl? Would they have taken precautions to keep her secret, and would they have been able to keep her so calm? This morning has been a showcase for Castle's contributions, and she makes a note to tuck this realization away to help her keep perspective the next time she's frustrated or irritated by Castle's regular antics.

"Are we ready?" Castle calls out and breaks Beckett from her reflections. It looks like Lanie was also lost in thought, and she quickly moves to work the lead gurney. Castle has already donned his lab coat, though his passenger is still glued to his chest.

When everyone looks ready to move, Castle whispers to the young girl again, and she slowly detaches herself and lies on top of the empty duffel on the couch. Castle draws the bag up around her, using the handles to support the bag while he pulls a strap over his shoulder. He peers down into the bag, into which the little girl has completely disappeared.

"You okay in there Angel?" Castle says, gracing the young one with a full-wattage Castle smile. He positions a fist over the bag, and chuckles when a little fist emerges to give him a bump. "Okay, time to play hide &amp; seek. Here. We. Go!" he says in a sing-song voice, obviously trying to making the whole event into a game.

Castle and Laney push Number One through the door, followed by the techs pushing the other gurney. Beckett and Esposito follow, leaving the uniforms to place the crime scene tape and seal the door behind them. With luck, if anyone is watching, they'll not notice that the departing police number one fewer, with Ryan secreted inside in case anyone else comes calling.

Beckett heads towards her car, glancing as casually as she can manage over to the vans that will be heading toward the ME's office. Just as the van doors are about to close, she sees Castle raise his hand to her, gracing her with a soft smile. It's almost as if he lobs the smile to her, and she can feel the moment the smile arrives with a nearly physical impact. The van doors close, sealing him away, but not before the smile migrates to her face. Sending good wishes for the hospital visit skyward, she sinks into her cruiser and heads for the precinct.


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: I do not own Castle or the characters used in this story.

_Beckett heads towards her car, glancing as casually as she can manage over to the vans that will be heading toward the ME's office. Just as the van doors are about to close, she sees Castle raise his hand to her, gracing her with a soft smile. It's almost as if he lobs the smile to her, and she can feel the moment the smile arrives with a nearly physical impact. The van doors close, sealing him away, but not before the smile migrates to her face. Sending good wishes for the hospital visit skyward, she sinks into her cruiser and heads for the precinct._

* * *

"Sir, we've got a situation and I need your help." Beckett's lead-in, delivered from her position in the doorway to Captain Gates' office, is unprecedented.

"Come in, Detective Beckett," Gates says as she stands, taking note that Beckett draws the door closed behind her. "Is this about the double homicide?"

Beckett settles into a chair in front of Gates' desk and focuses on delivering a concise summary. "Yes, it is, but the homicides look likely to close quickly." Noting Gates' raised eyebrows, Beckett tells her that the victims likely killed each other, to which Gates only nods.

"There's a bigger problem, a bigger mystery," Beckett begins. "And I'd be remiss to say that we might have missed it all without Castle."

"The author?" Gates says, with a tone laced more with surprise than derision. Beckett thought that Gates might have started to warm to Castle, but perhaps that was overly optimistic.

Beckett starts the explanation: "Castle connected the odd position of one of the bodies and an abnormality in the floorplan of the site. He discovered a hidden room, with a young girl locked inside."

"Is she alright? Where is she?" interrupts Captain Gates.

"She's en route to the hospital with Castle and Officer Holloway now." Noting the surprised look on her Captain's face, Beckett explains.

"Castle was the first to realize that neither victim had keys to the residence or the hidden room. He suggested that we sneak the girl out of the condo and leave Ryan behind to intercept anyone else who comes looking. The little girl won't let go of Castle. He smuggled her into one of the ME vans, left with Dr. Parish, and waited at the ME's office until we could get a female officer over to get them to the hospital. Lisa Holloway is good, and understands that if we want to have any chance of catching who's behind this, we need them to think that the girl is still locked away in the condo."

"It sounds like you're already containing information of her discovery and retrieval?" At Beckett's nod, Gates continues. "So, we need to get undercover assets and an outside surveillance team to relieve Detective Ryan at the scene. Have you already contacted CPS regarding the little girl?"

Beckett nods again, noting "With strong cautions regarding the need for keeping the matter quiet."

"What are your next steps, and what can I do to ease the way?" asks Gates.

This is the question that Beckett anticipated, and she hopes that she can lay out her plan quickly and efficiently.

"We need three things to proceed. First, we've got to close the homicides, or at least understand if they are open and shelved in light of more pressing concerns. I'm hoping that Dr. Parish can help us get there by …" glancing at her watch and figuring that Lanie probably needs another hour, says "by 1:30 this afternoon."

"Second, we've got to establish identities – for the little girl foremost, but also for the victims. Esposito is working on plowing through the financial records that we hope will lead to the condo owner. Ryan's better at parsing financial data, so he'll take that over when he's relieved from surveillance and Esposito will see what we can find on the girl's identity. I'm hoping that Castle can give us something to work with based on the hospital trip."

"Third," continues Beckett, now looking glum, "we need to reach out to the FBI. While I'd prefer to avoid that step, I don't see how we can keep from bringing them into a kidnapping, and we might need their resources to identify her. But, I'm hoping that you can impress the need for operational secrecy upon them when we reach out."

Gates nods with every point, and Beckett is glad to see that she's following along and is seemingly impressed. Which leaves her exposed for the follow-up question. "Why the bond between Mr. Castle and the young girl? And why do we need information from him to identify her?"

Beckett considers temporizing, but instead decides to jump right in. "Castle found the girl – after finding the hidden room, he opened the door while we provided cover. Her attachment to Castle probably stems from him being the one who pulled her from the room. But, he's also got a remarkable rapport with children – he speaks their language." The last line is delivered with a straight face, though Beckett considers a smirk or elaboration on the "man-child" theme.

But Gates is not deflected or deterred and goes for the sensitive question: "Why did you need to provide cover? If you didn't know what was behind the door, why open it? Are we going to lose the ability to prosecute based on your search of the room?"

Beckett sighs. "I think we're clean, sir. I mentioned at the outset that Castle noted something odd about the placement of one of the victims. He also noted that the victim had undone his belt and was walking toward the secret room and away from the restroom when he was killed. Based on that information, I deemed it likely that there was a victim of assault in the room, thus justifying our entry. The concern regarding potential participation from one or more other conspirators also contributed to my decision."

"Oh, dear lord," sighs Gates. "So, part of the hospital trip is to assess whether the little girl was assaulted?"

"Yes, I'm afraid so, sir. I spoke with Castle just before coming to you, confirming that Holloway was on her way to him. He said that the girl hasn't yet spoken. We don't know if that's due to the trauma that she's endured, fear of her captors or what might have happened to her family, or whether it was something that she had before all of this happened. But so far, she's not provided us with any information that will help us track down her identity or relatives."

"Okay," responds Gates. "You coordinate with Detective Esposito. I'll get surveillance to relieve Detective Ryan and will reach out to the Feds. Keep me posted, especially on any news from Dr. Parish or Mr. Castle. Make sure that your detectives are clearly engaged, Detective Beckett, as I suspect you'll be spending time in coordinating meetings with me this afternoon."

* * *

Esposito and Ryan are twin portraits of frustration. At least one is tugging on his hair, and often both. Forlorn sighs regularly punctuate the murmur of the precinct.

"I'm getting nowhere," says Esposito, spiking his pen on the desktop. "Even with the little information Castle provided, there just isn't enough to go on. And that assumes that she's been reported missing."

"Nothing better here," sighs Ryan, as Beckett looks his way. "I've never seen a paperwork morass like this. Shell companies, subsidiaries, dummy accounts. Some of it tracks to the Maldives, some to other Cayman accounts, and now even Switzerland. I'm probably out of my depth – we're not likely to get much further unless we get some help from White Collar."

Beckett collects her notes and prepares to provide Captain Gates with an update when Gates preempts her by calling her name and pointing to the conference room. As she looks in that direction, she is surprised to see that the Feds arrived without notice. "Time to play nice," she mutters, eliciting smirks from the boys.

"Detective Beckett, Homicide," Beckett says as she enters the room and approaches the two agents already inside.

A slim man of medium height with tight-cropped red hair shot through with silver turns and extends his hand. "Detective Beckett, nice to meet you. I've heard good things from your friends Sorenson and Shaw. I'm Dan Wilson, I'll be running point for the Bureau, to the extent that the Bureau gets involved. This is my associate, Danielle Britton."

Kate pivots and extends her hand to Agent Britton. Tall and athletic, Agent Britton extends her hand and greets Beckett cordially, with a smile. Both agents are the model of Federal appearance, with gray slacks and blue blazers over crisp white shirts. Britton's thick, brunette hair is pulled back in a low ponytail, making her look younger than she probably is.

As the Feds, Beckett, and Gates settle around the conference table, Gates begins. "As you heard from Agent Wilson, Detective Beckett, the FBI's role at this point is undetermined. In all likelihood, this is a kidnapping in which case New York will cede jurisdiction. However, given the tenuous information at present, the Bureau is willing to provide assistance until the nature of the issue becomes more clear."

"That's right," picks up Agent Wilson. "At your Captain's request, and based on the solid recommendations we have for you and your partner, we're hoping that this can be a more cooperative experience than might normally be the case. Might I ask where your partner is right now?"

"Castle's with the little girl at the hospital. Last I heard, they were wrapping up the examinations and preparing for a visit from CPS. After that, they'll head back here. They might be back by 3:00, certainly by 4:00." Beckett notes a sly smile from the senior agent while she delivers this report.

"So Rick Castle, international bestselling author and page six playboy, is babysitting? That's not something I would have expected based on his reputation," Wilson responds.

Beckett is surprised by how irritating she finds this line from Agent Wilson, who actually seems to be trying to break the ice and work cooperatively with her team. She's preparing to walk the fine line between objecting on Castle's behalf and maintaining the cordial atmosphere when Gates speaks.

"You must not have met Mr. Castle, Agent Wilson." Gates delivers this directly, with no tone of disapproval or offense. "I have learned, to my surprise, that Mr. Castle's reputation rarely provides an accurate representation of his skills and abilities. In fact, I suspect that he uses the reputation to create false expectations from which he can then deviate – he might even have designed it this way. If you have spoken to Agent Shaw, I think she learned the same thing."

"No offense intended," answers Agent Wilson amiably.

"And none taken," Gates assures him. "Just wait to meet him and form your opinion then."

"Until he arrives with his charge, why don't we get set up and check in with Detective Beckett's team to see what they've got," says Agent Wilson, rising as he sees the nod from Gates. As they leave the room to get busy, Beckett wonders about Agent Britton, who has yet to utter a word.


	4. Chapter 4

Disclaimer: I do not own Castle or the characters used in this story.

"_Until he arrives with his charge, why don't we get set up and check in with Detective Beckett's team to see what they've got," says Agent Wilson, rising as he sees the nod from Gates. As they leave the room to get busy, Beckett wonders about Agent Britton, who has yet to utter a word._

* * *

The *ding* of the elevator draws Beckett's attention in time to see it disgorge Castle, with passenger attached, Officer Holloway, and a middle aged Asian woman in a worn black suit. Castle leads the group to Captain Gates' office, but catches Beckett's eye and delivers a subtle thumbs-up with a smile. After a moment, the Captain emerges to collect the Feds and tilts her head to Beckett, summoning her back to the conference room. Holloway breaks off, moving toward the stairwell.

It's a tight fit as the six adults and one child assemble around the table. The crowd and new faces have put the young girl on edge and she curls tightly into Castle's chest. He shifts her slightly so that he can hold her tight in his left arm while extending his right hand to the Feds as he introduces himself.

Beckett stands back, studying the body language in the room. The Asian woman is studying Castle – no, both Castle and the girl. She must be from CPS, monitoring the girl and Castle's interaction with her.

The reactions from the Feds are more telling. They both study Castle intently, but in turn. While Agent Britton introduces herself and draws Castle's attention, Agent Wilson studies Castle openly. When the roles are reversed and Castle is shaking Wilson's hand, Beckett notes that Agent Britton's assessment includes a head-to-toe inspection that lingers and brings a small smile to the agent's face. Beckett is slightly uncomfortable with her dark reaction to the Agent's perusal of her partner.

Castle draws everyone's attention as he begins to speak. "Captain Gates, Detective Beckett, Agents Wilson and Britton," he starts, nodding to each in turn, "please meet Dr. Cynthia Wang, a psychologist with the city's Child Protective Services. Dr. Wang would like to discuss her observations and advice on how to proceed. Before we turn to her, I'd like to cover two points quickly."

"First," Castle begins, "I'd like to participate in this meeting. You might have noticed that I have a lovely passenger along for the ride. I'm hoping that we can address sensitive issues in vague terms or that we can keep the level of interpersonal discourse at a sufficiently elevated intellectual level to discourage inadvertent messaging. 'Little pitchers' and all that. If we stray into topics where that won't be possible, please give me a signal and we'll excuse ourselves."

Dr. Wang is nodding through this delivery, brightening at Castle's verbose request to ensure that the young girl won't understand topics that are too mature for her attention.

"Second, let me give you an update from our trip to the doctor. You'll be relieved to hear that Angel here cleared her physical with no concerns." Castle meets eyes with Beckett and the Captain before proceeding, ensuring that they understand that their darker concern did not prove true. "She's tired, and we'll be drinking lots of water, but everything looks great. As for verbalization, there has not yet been any, and we hope to learn whether this was a preexisting condition."

Through this statement, Castle's young passenger is still. Beckett suspects that she is either asleep or doesn't understand that she's the focus of the discussion.

"Thank you, Mr. Castle," begins Dr. Wang. "Angel and I have had a chance to meet, and I have observed her interactions with Mr. Castle. Aside from the medical update there is little to add. Her experience has clearly affected her, leaving her …," Dr. Wang pauses, looking for words that won't harm if understood by the girl, "withdrawn and wary."

"Given what I understand about the situation, our ordinary protocol at this point – admission into the CPS foster system – seems like a poor option. I have discussed this matter with Mr. Castle and am prepared to sign off on an unusual alternative, conditional on your approval and support, Captain Gates." Dr. Wang pauses at this point, looking at Captain Gates to ensure her attention before continuing.

"Mr. Castle has volunteered to retain custody and care of the child while officers try to establish her identity and find her relatives. However, there are two conditions attached to this solution. First, consistent with Mr. Castle's instincts when taking the child to the hospital, I require that there be a female caretaker or officer present at all times." Castle nods as Dr. Wang continues, "Mr. Castle has agreed to this condition and noted that he would require the same if his daughter was in this position."

"In addition, I require that the child remain here, at the precinct. I am not comfortable with the idea of her being hosted at Mr. Castle's address or that of others, and the possibility that there may be other conspirators involved in her imprisonment still at large warrants protective custody." Dr. Wang turns to the Captain. "Captain Gates, are you able and willing to meet these requirements?"

Gates remains silent for a few heartbeats. "Yes, I'm amenable, with one caveat. We're assuming, and hoping, that we can break this case quickly. If it draws out, we'll need to reevaluate."

"Yes," responds Dr. Wang, nodding. "That's an excellent point. I don't think it would be good for the child to take up long-term residency in a police precinct, and I would worry about the harm from breaking the bond with Mr. Castle should they interact for an extended period and we learn unfortunate news on the identity or relative front."

At this, Beckett turns to Castle, who is deep in thought. Yes, thinks Beckett, she could see Castle getting attached quickly to this girl, which could lead to complications if the young one had to enter the system at a later date.

Suddenly, Beckett feels a little ashamed of herself. Without thinking about it, she jumped to thinking about Castle's welfare, rather than that of the poor little one. She leaves the implications of that reflex for later ruminations.

"How about this," interjects Castle. "It's Monday afternoon. We've got the best detectives in New York and friends from the FBI to help. We'll know by Friday if we're close to breaking this or not. Let's plan for a Friday lunch meeting where we'll talk about new plans and hope that we won't have need to meet."

Dr. Wang and Captain Gates agree to Castle's suggestion. At this point, the group breaks up: Captain Gates asks Beckett to come back to her office to work out the details with Dr. Wang and to draw up a duty roster that will ensure that there is a female companion available to observe Castle's interaction with the little girl through Friday. This leaves Castle to talk with the Feds.

Beckett's not comfortable leaving Castle along with the FBI agents – not due to a lack of faith in his abilities, but because she's still not sure about their intentions or agenda. Castle either shares this concern or reads her well, as he calls to her while she's leaving with the Captain. "Beckett, would you ask Ryan and Espo to join us? They should hear what little I've got to provide to Agents Wilson and Britton here." It's said in a casual, off-hand way, as if it's just a spur-of-the-moment thought of little consequence, an attempt to avoid boring redundancy later. Bless Castle's exposure to actors.

* * *

When Beckett emerges from her meeting with the Captain and Dr. Wang, seeing the boys back at their desks confirms that Castle's meeting must have wrapped quickly. She heads toward the lounge, where she can see Castle standing and swaying again. Noticing Beckett, Holloway sees an opportunity to take a break from her supervising task and asks Beckett to stay with Castle and the little girl for 15 minutes.

Beckett pauses in the doorway, watching Castle rock back and forth while singing softly. How did she not know that he had such a good singing voice? Now that she thinks about it, she can't recall Castle ever singing with genuine intent in her presence. He's cut loose with ribald limericks and sung in obviously contrived voices, but she realizes that she's never heard him actually sing as he might at church, or for carols, or even in the shower. Her thoughts drift to his piano, and she finds herself wondering if Castle's one of those frustrating right-brained people with a surfeit of creativity that can be harnessed in multiple forms, like creative writing, composing, and performing. Castle turns to her in time to see the smirk on her face as she imagines his reaction to her use of "surfeit."

"I think she's out for a while," Castle says, looking at the girl now cradled in his arms rather than hugging into his neck. "Poor thing has been shaking like a leaf for most of the day."

"Has she eaten?" Beckett inquires. Castle nods, whispering his explanation. "We went to a food court and let her pick something out. We've got no idea if she has allergies, so we figured that letting her pick what she wants to eat would be the safest bet. And I'm armed with epi-pens just in case."

Of course Castle would think of this. "You're a good dad, Castle. I wouldn't even have thought about allergies."

"Trust me, you learn quickly when you need to. It's not that big of a deal. Once I realized that success as a dad follows the same formula as success elsewhere, it was smooth sailing. I mean, look at Alexis. I've got it _down_."

"And what, oh master, is this key formula?" asks Beckett.

"Rugged handsomeness, of course," intones Castle, very formally, "the key to most dimensions of life."

"Really." says Beckett as a statement, not a question.

"Yes, really. Can you imagine anything more pathetic than a handsome, clueless single dad? I got more parenting advice on a trip through the supermarket than you could pick up in a library," Castle chuckles with a smile.

"'What to Expect When You're Clueless'?" suggests Beckett.

"Quite," Castle replies with a chuckle. "That one didn't sell as well as the original."

"Still," continues Beckett, "your charm must have rubbed off on Dr. Wang. She seems to be a fan of yours."

"She's good people. I was nervous at first," says Castle. "I don't know what I expected – maybe a long-serving public servant beaten down by the system or the weight of sad experiences. But she's engaged, more like an enlightened despot looking out for her charges without letting petty administrative trivia get in her way. Still, maybe the fancy suit helped."

This prompts a small laugh from Beckett. "Aha! So, Mr. Space-Time Continuum, you knew this morning that you should dress to impress today, even though we hadn't even gotten the call on the case by then?"

"Oh, Beckett, how I wish that were true. So cool. But no, there's a more pedestrian, _logical_ explanation for today's attire. I had a publisher meeting this morning, left early to meet you at the condo."

"So," concludes Beckett. "The suit was for Paula and Gina's benefit? What have you done, or what are you trying to get?"

"Nice, Beckett. But I assure you that my forms of manipulation are infinitely more subtle." At Beckett's near guffaw, Castle feigns a shushing sound and points looks to the little girl in his arms. "Besides, this was an off-the-radar meeting – testing the waters before bringing Paula on board."

Beckett stumbles a bit on this explanation and fears that her tone now reveals more than she'd prefer. "So the suit was just for Gina? Oh, Castle. Not her again."

Castle is clearly shocked. "No! No, no, no. Once was too much and twice was a poor … decision." His pause makes Beckett wonder what word he was going to use before editing himself. "No, my meeting wasn't with Black Pawn." That's Castle's 'I knew it would cause trouble but here's what I did anyway' tone of voice. She knows it well.

"But Castle, you're under contract with Black Pawn. How can you take meetings with other publishers?"

Castle's thinking before he speaks, another sign of trouble. "Gina doesn't know me as well as she thinks, never did. And she writes a pretty crappy contract. There are options not covered by my contract, and trigger clauses that allow early termination. I've got some ideas floating around. Nothing concrete. Today's meeting was just exploratory, a way to test market demand and to see if there are other potential business partners available."

Beckett wants to think that this is shocking news, but she's not sure if it is – she's never been privy to Caste's business decisions until after they were made. The thought of him breaking his contract makes her uncomfortable, like he's preparing to sever ties with the 12th, or at least pull up his anchor. Where will his curiosity blow him then?

Beckett's not ready to pursue this conversation but isn't sure how to segue to safer ground. Salvation arrives in the form of a Latino Detective. "Yo, Castle, excellent call, bro. Surveillance just bagged someone entering the condo. With keys to both doors."

* * *

It's a frustrated Beckett that returns to the lounge more than two hours later. They've gotten nowhere with the suspect. He had keys, and ID, and a plausible cover story for his presence in the condo. And aside from the keys, all are convinced that the rest is complete fiction. Even the suspect, a well-dressed, well-spoken middle aged man, doesn't invest much effort in trying to sell his tale. Nor has he requested an attorney. He's content to wait for the expiry of the 24 hours that the police have to bring charges.

The team – Esposito, Ryan, the Feds, and Beckett, along with some uniforms – have less than a day to tie their suspect, a "Mr. Joseph Davis," to the condo, the victims, or the little girl. Beckett will join the others in this effort as soon as she loses some of the cloying irritation caused by an ineffectual interrogation.

Officer Holloway has been relieved by Tara Williams, a petite blond officer who spends most of her time with Burglary. She's sitting at a table in the corner focusing on paperwork, while Castle and the little girl are on the couch. Castle's got a book in his lap, but Beckett can't identify the title from this angle.

This is the first time that Beckett's seen the little girl outside of the protective shelter of Castle's arms. She looks better – hair brushed out, clothes changed, and a healthier color than when she was found. Her expression is still guarded, and she's tucked to Castle's side as they sit on the couch. The little one moves in tighter when she notices Beckett in the doorway. Castle looks up at the shift and welcomes Beckett with a smile.

"Angel, this is my friend I was telling you about – the best Detective in the whole police station. Her name is Kate Beckett." Officer Williams, who had looked up as Castle started speaking, smiles at Castle's description of his partner.

"Detective Kate Beckett, this might look like a little girl that I call Angel, but that's just a trick." Castle's launched into his story-telling voice. "She's not really a little girl, she's a gigantic panda bear who eats tables full of food. You see those three slices of pizza there on the table for you? We started with six pizzas and that's all I could save from her. Can you believe it?" Castle's playing for his crowd of one, and it seems to be resolving some of the tension. While the little girl's facial expressions haven't changed, she's relaxed her hold on him a bit.

"No, Castle, I can't believe it." Beckett says in response. With a big smile on her face she turns to the girl. "Don't worry Angel, I know all about Castle's stories, and his appetite. We'll make sure he saves you some."

There's no reaction from the little girl, which Kate takes as a win. At least she didn't scare her back into Castle's side.

Castle looks up from having watched the girl's reaction to the interplay with Beckett and calls out to the officer. "Williams, do you think we're up for our trip downstairs?"

Officer Williams nods and starts to organize her papers on the table. Castle turns his attention back to Beckett.

"We're going to head down to the locker room where Williams will help Angel with a quick shower and getting ready for bed. I was hoping you might come down with us so we can talk while they get ready? I can bribe you with leftover pizza…"

Beckett nods, knowing that everyone is trying to keep it light. This will be "Angel's" first separation from Castle, aside from when he had to step out of the hospital room during her physical examination, which she heard did not go well. So, Beckett is sure that Castle will be hovering just outside the door to the locker room, immediately available to resume care of his charge.

The parting goes off better than anticipated. Castle carried the little girl down to the locker rooms, talking the whole time, and she only hesitated briefly before allowing Officer Williams to usher her inside.

"Don't think that I'm going to help get you ready for bed, Castle." Beckett flings a mock glare his way.

"Why Beckett, I'd never dream … Well, okay, that's a lie. I'd totally dream of it, but I'd never suggest it aloud while you're armed. So, rather than grabbing your gun, sit here and eat while you bring me up to speed. Angel and I are having a great time, but I'm feeling well out of the loop and can just tell that the team is foundering without my inspirational presence and wealth of plausible theories."

Beckett shoves some pizza in her mouth to avoid the temptation of shoving it in his. Around bites of lukewarm pizza (which still tastes divine), she tells Castle of their intransigent witness, his unlikely story, and their frustration at putting any of the pieces together.

With a sigh and gentle rubbing of his face with his hands, Castle shares his own frustration. "Angel's clearly getting more comfortable with me, but she still hasn't uttered a word. At this point, I'm probing for reactions – trying to see if any stories, songs, sights, anything – causes a spark of recognition. I'm hoping that if she has a good night, we might be able to make inroads tomorrow."

"You're good with her, Castle." Beckett replies, balling up the napkins and paper plate from her meal. "Pushing too hard is the last thing she needs. As much as I'd like her to jot down her name or tell us her address, we can't traumatize her further. It's on us to make the connections."

"The lack of writing bothers me." Castle replies. "By now, she might not know her address or last name, but she should at least be able to write her first name, maybe draw some picture of home. I got nowhere with crayons today, but didn't push too hard. We'll try that again in the morning."

"Crayons? Did you finally learn to share?" Beckett reaches for more banter, hoping that it will continue to calm her after her frustration with the suspect.

"As a matter of fact, these are official Castle crayons. Alexis dropped off a care package with all the stuff we'll need for the next few days. Clothes, crayons, coloring books, construction paper, hair ribbons, even my jammies. You should stop by later and check them out," Castle likes this idea, and his ponderous look lets Beckett know that he's carrying it far too far in his mind.

"Hello, keeping things G-rated, right? I might be convinced to stop in later if you're offering story-time. I've heard that you're almost, sort of half-way decent at kind of almost trying to spin a tale. But for now, I've got to get back to the team. Thanks for dinner, Castle. I think I needed the break more than the food, and I was pretty hungry," she admits.

"Good luck, Detective. I've heard that you're the best in the whole police department, so I'm sure you'll break the case."


	5. Chapter 5

Disclaimer: I do not own Castle or the characters used in this story.

_"Good luck, Detective. I've heard that you're the best in the whole police department, so I'm sure you'll break the case."_

* * *

Castle's faith in her abilities proves unjustified, at least for tonight. More than three hours have passed since she returned to the team, and Beckett has yet to find a thread to pull in the investigation. She's not alone – nothing has panned out yet. The Feds called it quits at 10:00. Ryan and Esposito look as tired as she feels.

"Guys, I'm going to go check in with Castle. Unless he has something to run down, let's wrap it for tonight so that we can start fresh in the morning. I know the clock is ticking, but we're not accomplishing anything here." Beckett heads towards the lounge while the two other detectives nod tiredly.

The lounge is quiet and lowly lit when she arrives. Castle is sitting in a chair that's been turned to face the couch, typing feverishly on his laptop. Officer Williams is back at her small table covered with paperwork, though it looks like she's closer to napping than anything else. Beckett recalls that Williams is off shift at midnight, but cannot recall who takes over then.

Castle is so absorbed in his typing that he's failed to notice her standing in the doorway. Beckett takes the rare opportunity to study him without being noticed. He looks good – healthy and well-rested – and she starts to wonder about how he does it. He is present for nearly full-time hours at the precinct, and still manages to write and meet his other professional responsibilities. He's a dad, and even if Alexis is nearly an adult, she still needs and loves his attention. And atop all this, he's apparently brewing up some kind of addition or change in his non-precinct-related professional life. Maybe he _is_ actually working when they assume that he's just playing games or tending to social media on his phone. How else would he get it all done?

"'Staring is creepy,' Beckett," Castle whispers. Damn, her mind wandered off while she was looking at Castle, and she doesn't know when he turned to face her.

"You'd know, Castle," she replies. "She's doing okay?" she asks, looking toward the couch where the little girl sleeps.

"It took a while to get her down," Castle responds. "It'll probably be a rough night."

"I wish I had something to allay concerns, but we're no further ahead than we were at dinner. Unless you've had an epiphany, I'm going to send folks home to get some rest. Maybe our suspect will prove more malleable in the morning," Beckett says, but her tone belies her doubt.

"Go get some rest, goodness knows that you deserve it. We'll hold the fort here. I'll have to beg your indulgence for the morning, though, as I'm not going to be able to make the usual coffee run. But I can work the machine here like a pro, make sure you're properly caffeinated to take the suspect apart," while talking about the coffee machine, Castle looks to Officer Williams, and Beckett notices a coffee mug on the table before her.

"Detective Beckett," Williams says, "will Homicide adopt me? I cannot believe that you guys have this coffee machine and we're drinking that swill on the third floor. Forget the hours, the stress, the perps – for coffee like this, I'd happily transfer and consider myself lucky."

Beckett smiles and starts heading toward the door. "We're always happy to make new friends, Williams. We learned long ago," she says, looking straight at Castle to make sure he understands that this is intended for him, "that good coffee is the foundation of our success."

* * *

Feeling only moderately more rested than when she left the precinct the preceding night, Beckett trudges into the office early Tuesday morning bearing coffee from the shop around the corner. It's just past 7:00 and the precinct is still quiet, though it's starting to wake up. Dropping her cup of coffee off at her desk, Beckett continues to the lounge to complete the role reversal and make a delivery to Castle and whoever is keeping guard with him.

The door is drawn but not completely closed, and the blinds are closed. Quietly, Beckett nudges the door open. Castle is asleep is the chair, head bent at an angle that's sure to cause him trouble upon waking. Angel is presumably on the couch – she must be burrowed into the heaped mound of blankets.

Officer Elena Martinez stands from the desk in the corner and approaches quietly. Beckett knows Martinez, who works mostly with Vice, and likes her. This is a little awkward for her as Lanie's friend, since both have recognized the not-so-casual glances that Esposito has thrown the officer's way. Beckett doesn't know whether anything has or is likely to happen there, and doesn't want to know.

"Good morning, Martinez," whispers Beckett while passing her a coffee. "Quiet night?"

Officer Martinez shakes her head while ushering Beckett toward the door. They step into the hallway, leaving the door ajar so as to comply with Dr. Wang's requirements. "No, it was a pretty terrible night. They might have slept for half of it. Lots of nightmares, lots of tears. That poor little thing must be exhausted," Martinez notes. Then, catching the glimmer in Beckett's eye, she quickly follows up with "And yes, I was talking about the girl, not Castle."

Beckett chuckles even though her telegraphed jibe was anticipated. Before she can follow up, Martinez continues. "He's not what I thought he was. Castle, I mean. I've seen him down in Vice, and the way he was down there doesn't match this guy," she points over her shoulder with her thumb.

"How so?" inquires Beckett. "Wait, what was Castle doing down in Vice?"

"He stops by sometimes. Maybe he wanders when there is no active homicide? It started with asking questions for his characters, but I think it's branched out a bit from there. I know that there were some poker games, and I heard that he showed up at Miller's engagement party. Oh, and he comped the portion of Miller's fiancé's bachelor party that happened at his bar."

Huh. So Castle's making friends down in Vice. It makes Beckett wonder where else Castle wanders while they her team is buried in paperwork. Maybe she'll tie a bell around his neck. "I guess I can see how what he's doing now differs from poker and bachelor parties."

"He probably sang a hundred songs last night, but none that you'd hear at a bachelor party. Camp songs, school songs, pop, country, old standards, jazz. Not much classic rock, now that I think of it. If I pull this duty again tonight, maybe I'll come in with a set list," Martinez says with a chuckle.

"I'm not sure about taking requests, Martinez," says Castle, with a sleepy, rough morning voice. Both women turn to see him rubbing his neck with one hand while running the other through his hair. He's drowsily unkempt and unshaven, and leans slightly to the left while his systems slowly come back online. Based on Martinez's assessment, it's an adorable look.

"Beckett, if that coffee is for me, I swear I'll be silent for a straight hour the next time you have paperwork. Oh, thank god," Castle sighs as Beckett passes him the cup.

"Not the kind of rough night you're used to?" Beckett whispers.

"Well, Beckett, let me tell you," says Castle, warming immediately to this topic, while Beckett prepares a preemptive eye roll. But a whimper from the pile of blankets back in the lounge immediately captures Castle's attention. "I'd better go. Maybe lunch, Detective?" says Castle as he heads toward Angel. Beckett nods, and heads to her desk.

* * *

Two hours later, everyone on the team is back at work. The Feds have commandeered a conference room and are working with Esposito in trying to find anything that will lead to Angel's identity. Ryan's at his desk with a phone attached to his ear, on the line with Tim Carrier in White Collar Crimes, trying to uncover the owner of the condo where the bodies and the little girl were found. Beckett's running point, marshalling resources, collating information, and keeping Gates apprised of (the lack of) progress.

All investigators are aware that the clock is ticking. At present, Joseph Davis still sits in holding. He seems to be relaxing, perhaps enjoying the silence. It doesn't seem like a night in lockup has him ready to crack, but they'll try another interrogation within the hour.

Beckett looks to her phone after it gives a brief chirp. Castle's text is not verbose: _**Need coffee?**_

A few finger strokes and Beckett fires off her response: _**Always.**_

_**Don't confound our rituals, Beckett. **_Castle replies. _**Coffee is one thing, Always another. But we're on our way.**_

A few minutes later, Castle approaches with a mug in one hand and the little girl's hand in the other. She's walking around on her own now, which Beckett hopes is a good sign. She's wearing a pretty dark blue dress, with white stockings and leather shoes. But it's her hair that catches Beckett's attention. It now hosts a number of complicated braids that meet and intertwine before running down the nape of her neck. There are white and blue ribbons worked into the braids, and they end in a bow that holds the end of the braid together. It's beautiful and must make Angel feel like a princess.

"We come bearing gifts," Castle says, placing the mug in the middle of her desk with great ceremony. He nudges Angel, who has stayed a little behind Castle so that she's not completely exposed to Beckett. At Castle's urging, the girl slowly comes out from behind him, extending an arm so that her hand stretches toward Beckett. The little girl is holding a rolled up piece of paper, tied with ribbon (red, this time).

Kate smiles and accepts the paper. As soon as the paper is out of her possession, the girl darts back behind Castle. He laughs warmly and tells her "Good job!"

Turning to Beckett, Castle asks about any updates, though he can tell by the demeanor in the area that there have been no breakthroughs. When Beckett mentions that they're about to take another run at the interrogation, Castle decides that they need to get out of sight before then. He doesn't have any reason to know whether Angel would recognize the suspect, but worries about what might happen if Davis recognizes the girl, especially shortly before they might be forced to release him.

"Nothing new on our front, I'm afraid." Castle reports. "We're going to spend some more time drawing, and maybe do some other projects." Beckett assumes that "drawing" means 'trying to get pictures of home or family or school.'

Beckett nods, and broaches what might be a sensitive subject. "Castle, we've got until around 5:00 today before we'll have to bring charges or release him. If we don't have anything by then, maybe we need to have someone look into the interrogation room to see whether it prompts a response?"

Castle looks at the girl and adopts a cheery voice that she knows is for Angel's benefit. "I think that's right. I'd rather do something else, but that might have to be the straw at which we grasp."

They share a look, both knowing that such an outcome would be unlikely to provide a lead but could easily set Angel back.

The conference room door opens, disgorging Esposito ahead of Agent Britton. They head toward Beckett's desk and Esposito laughs when he sees the girl's tresses.

"Nice, Castle." Esposito says with a laugh. "Good to know that you have a career as a hairdresser ahead of you if the whole writing/crime solving/playboy thing doesn't work out. Do you do nails, too?"

"Angel, isn't that a great idea?" Castle sings in response. "Let's do Detective Javier's nails for him. I bet we could make him look be-you-tee-ful. His hair is too short for ribbons, but he could wear the tiara!"

A look of pure terror has transformed Esposito's face as he starts to back away from the area, hands raised as if to ward off an attack. Ryan, seeing Esposito in distress and being a good partner, pushes Esposito's desk chair on its rollers so that the chair collides with the back of Esposito's knees. He collapses onto the chair, but quickly pushes off with his feet so that he shoots away from Castle and Angel at full speed. Beckett and Agent Britton have laughed throughout the transition, and even Angel has cracked a small, tentative smile.

"Espo, Agent Britton, any updates?" Beckett calls out once Esposito is back behind the protective bulk of his desk. Seeing two heads shaking in response, she turns to Ryan, who is still using his shoulder to hold a phone to his ear.

"We've tracked the paperwork back farther, but we have no idea of how far back we need to go. We might be close, we might not even be half-way."

Beckett sighs and heads towards Gates' office, waving goodbye to Angel and Castle. After knocking on the door frame and receiving a crooked finger from the Captain, Beckett enters. She expects her update to be short enough to not warrant taking a seat.

"We're no further." Beckett offers without preamble. "There might be a light at the end of the tunnel for the condo ownership, or the tunnel might actually be a mine shaft. We don't know, and don't know when we will know."

"Do we have anything to use in a second interrogation with Davis?" Gates asks.

"Honestly? Nothing that he'll see as a threat. We can take another run at him, but other than fatigue from a night in holding, we've got nothing more to use against him," Beckett responds.

"So, what do you want to do?" Gates asks. "We can run at him again, but a second ineffectual interrogation will only embolden him and make any subsequent discussion more difficult. The higher the number of interrogations, the weaker our case looks to the DA and any halfway decent defense attorney. But you're excellent in the box, so maybe that's the best place to get something of use."

Beckett pauses, then admits the truth. "I don't think he'll break, not without something solid. We've got nothing and he knows it. I think we need to wait and hope that we can get something to use against him."

"And if waiting means that we've got nothing by the end of 24 hours?" Gates asks.

"Then we put state and federal teams on him and watch his every move," Beckett responds. "But with any luck we'll get something to use against him before 5:00."

"I trust your judgment on this, Detective, and think this is the right call. I don't want to give that bastard the satisfaction of skating through another session. Let's keep pushing on all fronts and meet at 2:30," Gates plans. "At that point, we'll have to take a run at him, regardless of what we've got."

"Yes, sir," replies Beckett while heading out the door, already thinking about how to get the stalled lines of inquiry restarted. She heads toward Castle without conscious thought, her default when stymied with a case.

As she approaches the lounge, she notices officers Karen Cochrane and Hannah Taylor, both from Burglary, standing outside the door. _That's odd_, thinks Beckett, _ I thought Holloway was back on Castle/Angel duty_.

Cochrane and Taylor offer pleasant hellos as they pass Beckett in the hallway en route to the stairs. Arriving at the lounge, Beckett sees that Holloway is back on duty, and back at the work table. At least this temporary posting will help everyone catch up on paperwork.

Shifting her focus away from Holloway, Beckett takes in the mass of papers covering the low table. The little girl is kneeling on the floor across the table from Castle, who is sitting on the floor with his back against the sofa. Both are fully engaged in their artwork.

"Don't distract me, Beckett, we're having a draw-off and Angel here is totally going down," Castle mock-growls. "Only … 35 seconds remain and then our impartial judge will declare me the winner, right Holloway?"

"We'll see, Castle," Holloway responds without looking up. "Frankly, I don't like your chances. Are you somehow thinking that the fourth time will do the trick for you?"

"Good point. Time for a more partial impartial judge," Castle says while making bold strokes on his masterpiece. "What do you say, Beckett? Are you comfortable assessing creative works not written in Cyrillic and dealing with angst and social and political upheaval on the tundra?"

"Time's up," says Holloway. "Time to impress."

Castle rises and takes both pictures over to the window, where scotch tape is used to hang each one. Angel has used her crayons to draw a nature scene, a green field with stick trees on the side. A blue line bisects the green field and joins a circle of blue at the bottom of the paper. The sky is scudded by a few clouds, but the yellow-orange-red (and purple?) sun blazes from the upper right-hand corner. A few v's represent birds, and it looks like there might even be some fish in the lake.

Castle's picture is a study in egotism: he's drawn a castle, of course. It has turrets and ramparts, a drawbridge and moat (with alligators and shark fins). The portcullis is down, blocking access to the structure. Atop the highest tower is a red-headed princess. A knight (or, really, a head behind a shield) guarding the end of the drawbridge has long, brown hair. Beckett huffs. "Where are Ryan and Espo? Or Martha?"

"Martha," Castle says, and turns to the little girl, "is my mom. She's teaching school, which you can't see in the picture. Ryan's right here," he says, pointing to a face in a window she hadn't seen. "And Espo is right here," he points with a smirk at another window where all that can be seen is a head with a tiara. "Here is Captain Gates," he says, pointing to the portcullis. Oh, a bad pun – a gate for Captain Gates. He must be fishing for eye-rolls. "And, this is me," he says, gesturing to the whole, "Castle!"

"You get an A for effort Castle, but Angel's drawing is far superior. The use of light, the perspective, the quiet tranquility of a woodland scene…," Beckett says while smiling at Angel and adopting an airy tone. "She just has a creative spark that you can't emulate."

"Unbelievable! You win _again_ Angel," he says to the girl. "I'd challenge you to a story writing contest, but I don't think my ego could take it." His antics win him an actual, full smile from the little one. "Will you do me a big, big, big favor, Angel? Will you fix my drawing while I talk to Detective Beckett?" She nods seriously while Castle pulls his drawing from the window and lays it on the table for her.

Agent Britton is lingering outside the door when Beckett and Castle step out to talk, but drifts off in search of coffee, leaving them alone. While both Beckett and Castle regret that they have nothing new to contribute, nothing with which to start building theory, the time together provides a small measure of solace before each return to their tasks with the hope of discovering something useful before 2:30.


	6. Chapter 6

Disclaimer: I do not own Castle or the characters used in this story.

_Agent Britton is lingering outside the door when Beckett and Castle step out to talk, but drifts off in search of coffee, leaving them alone. While both Beckett and Castle regret that they have nothing new to contribute, nothing with which to start building theory, the time together provides a small measure of solace before each return to their tasks with the hope of discovering something useful before 2:30._

* * *

Word of the 2:30 meeting has spread, and all members of the investigative team reconvene in the conference room. The visible lack of energy conveys their lack of progress more eloquently than any progress report.

The ultimate owner of the condo is still unknown; Davis's story that he rented the condo from an online ad cannot yet be disproven.

The identity of the victims is still unknown; neither was in the system, neither has implants that can be tracked to a physician, and neither has so much as a relative identifiable by DNA entry in the CODIS database.

And Angel's identity remains a mystery, as does the reason for her imprisonment.

So, instead of parsing details and laying out exhibits for use in the interrogation, the team strategizes methods to elicit information from Davis. The ploys are well known to interrogators, and while Beckett is good, great even in this setting, she's not optimistic about her chances as she finalizes her preparations. At 2:50, Captain Gates calls down to holding to request that Davis be moved to the interrogation room.

Castle, with passenger back in his arms, approaches Beckett. "You can't bluff when the other player knows your hand," he offers. "If force of will matters, you'll break him quickly. If not, maybe we see about bringing Angel into the viewing room when you wrap up?"

Beckett nods and gives him a wan smile, mind focused on the upcoming interrogation more than his attempt to provide support. Still, his attempt at comfort is appreciated. Castle recognizes that she's putting together her game face for the interrogation. He places a soft hand on her shoulder, whispers "You've got this," and carries Angel back towards the lounge.

Just after he's disappeared down the hall, the elevator sounds, indicating Davis' arrival on the homicide floor. He is ushered into the interrogation room and left alone to wait for Beckett. Marshaling her resolve, she strides towards the door.

"We meet again, Detective," Davis greets her upon entry.

"We just have a few more questions about your presence in the condo that we'd like to nail down," starts Beckett.

"Perhaps I'll talk slowly – seems to me that two hours from now I'll be on my way for a well-earned drink. Perhaps you'd like to join me?" Davis delivers this line more like it's expected than with any real desire or intent on his part. He's just letting Beckett know that he's well aware of the time and the deadline that the investigators are working under.

"You said that you rented the condo based on an internet ad," Beckett goes on, ignoring the drink invitation. "Perhaps you can shed some light on why we could find no such listing on any internet directory or archive?"

"I'm sure I have no idea. I'm afraid that I don't recall the website that I referenced when I made the booking. It was probably too good a deal. Oh dear, I just realized – I paid in cash. I hope that we're not here to talk about tax evasion or anything so heinous," Davis feigns in a scandalized voice. "I wish you luck in tracking down such scofflaws."

Kate's temper is already starting a slow burn. Two murders, a beautiful little girl locked away, and this jackass is making jokes about shorting the government on lodging taxes. She is preparing her next salvo when tapping on the glass of the one-way mirror commands her attention. If only to rattle Davis, she says, "Ah, finally. We'll talk again in a few minutes."

Beckett emerges from interrogation and enters the viewing room. It's a full house, with the boys, Gates, the Feds, and – an agitated Castle, without Angel. What the hell?

"Detective Beckett," Captain Gates begins, "has your assessment of your chances of breaking Davis changed?"

"No," Beckett growls. She's upset, but not with the question. Everyone here knows that they have nothing to work with.

"Mr. Castle seems to think he's had an epiphany and wants to take a run at Davis. I'm inclined to let him," Gates says. Apparently, this is news to others in the room, too, as Beckett sees the shock on Ryan and Esposito's faces that must be on her own as well. That Castle would want to lead in the interrogation is unusual; that Gates is seemingly on board beggars the imagination. The Feds, standing to the side, are aloof and content to watch the drama.

"Kate," Castle begins, quietly. "I've got a wild theory. I'm probably way off base, so I don't want to do anything if you've got a shot at him. But if we're out of options…"

Beckett takes note of Castle's use of her given name. Her first inclination is to tell Castle to back off, that this is her domain, but she recognizes that pride is coloring her judgment. She's worked with Castle for years, trusts his judgment, seeks his insight on cases. Why should she stand in the way now, when there is nothing to lose? Looking at Castle alone, she nods to signal her assent.

"Mr. Castle, I assume that you're aware of how to run an interrogation. If this goes sideways or you do anything inappropriate, I'm shutting this down immediately. That I'm willing to consider this farce is a sign of our desperation. And do not think for one minute that this situation means anything for any future you might have in this precinct," Gates practically snarls. "Finally, you go in alone."

"What?! No way, sir," Beckett objects. "He's my partner and I'm the lead. I need to be in that room."

"Detective Beckett, you'll be with me in observation. We can send you in if need be, but given that we're shooting in the dark, I don't want to do anything that compromises your ability to take a later run at Davis. Mr. Castle wants a shot, and he'll get it," Gates says with finality.

Beckett seethes and her body language shows it clearly. Arms are crossed, legs locked, and a scowl in entrenched on her face. Castle looks at her and recognizes the futility of conciliatory words or gestures. As he leaves the viewing room, Beckett wonders about Gates' support for this asinine approach. Is it a commentary on her ability to break a suspect? Is it a power play by Castle to take a more active role in the precinct, in their partnership? Or is Gates finally tired of Castle and putting him in a position where failure or a mistake could cost him his access to the precinct? All seem implausible, but she's at a loss to explain what's going on.

"Showtime for writer-boy," Esposito murmurs, as Castle enters the interrogation room and sits down across from Davis.

* * *

"Good afternoon, sir," Castle begins politely, "I'd like to confirm that you have been offered and rejected the opportunity to have access to legal counsel."

"Yes, that's correct," Davis responds.

XXXXXXX

In the viewing room, Beckett wonders at this opening gambit. Castle's being polite and deferential, and Davis seems to be quietly curious about the change. There were grumbles in the viewing room at Castle's opening line, but silence now.

XXXXXXX

"My name is Richard Castle. I am a civilian investigator consulting with the NYPD."

"I'm well aware of who you are, Mr. Castle," Davis says. "I'm sorry to say that I'm not much of a fan."

Castle offers no reaction to this slight. "Do you know why my books are successful, sir?"

"I suspect it's not due to their likelihood to enter the pantheon of classic literature," Davis replies in a bored tone.

Castle continues, undeterred. "I have a certain facility for crafting accessible, engaging stories. My words resonate with people from all walks of life – from the very educated and experienced to a cross-section of the people you'd encounter on the subway. 'Capture the attention and you capture the mind' – I've been doing it well for 20 years."

XXXXXXX

"Clever," Agent Britton says, surprising several in the room by finally talking. "He just told Davis that he can effectively communicate with judges and juries."

Agent Britton might be impressed, but Davis appears unaffected.

Beckett, however, notices what's gone unremarked – Castle is refusing to refer to the suspect by name. They all suspect that Davis's identity is bogus, and Castle is refusing to dignify the ruse.

XXXXXXX

Still more from Castle: "The police and district attorney find my stories useful in bringing cases to resolution. I'm not here to ask you any questions. Instead, I'm going to tell you a story. I think you'll find this one even less to your liking than my published works."

"We don't have time for a Nikki Heat novel, I fear," says Davis. "By my reckoning, you've less than 90 minutes. So, please, do entertain me."

"Before those 90 minutes elapse, you will be arrested on a number of charges, but I'm here to talk about the three most significant," Castle begins.

"Oh, a work of fiction!" Davis says gleefully. "Do continue."

"The first charge is kidnapping. In the grand picture, this charge won't even matter much. I start here simply to set the tone and make one point. Kidnapping is a federal crime, which means that you'll serve time in a federal facility with no guarantee that you'll end up near New York or the people who have influence here." Castle delivers this last line while looking directly at Davis. "In fact, I could easily see you in California or Arizona, far from the Northeast corridor. Based on random assignment, of course."

"Tell me, Mr. Castle, whom I'm alleged to have kidnapped?" Davis offers with some bravado, in a likely attempt to cover for the possible discomfort of being shipped away from New York.

"Brooke, of course," Castle offers. "She and I have spent the last two days together. She's quiet, but a font of information nonetheless."

XXXXXXX

"What the hell!? How did he come up with her name?" Esposito growls.

Ryan chimes in on a different point: "And what was that bit about 'people who have influence here'?"

Agent Wilson cuts them off with a curt "Quiet! Look at Davis's reaction."

XXXXXXX

Back in interrogation, Davis does appear to be concerned, or at least more attentive to Castle. "I'm afraid I don't know who you are talking about, Mr. Castle. I don't know anyone named Brooke."

"We'll get back to her in a little while. A good story has the right pacing, and we're building towards Brooke's chapter. But first, we need to talk about your second charge." Castle is in his element – he has truly lapsed into his storytelling voice and is enjoying telling the tale.

"The second charge, as you know, is jury tampering," Castle begins. "The narrative value of this charge is three fold. First, it easily resolves this nonsense regarding your false identity. We can hold you for as long as we want, for as long as it takes to pierce your charade."

Davis begins to object, but Castle speaks over him. "Oh, you're welcome to complain, but court officials are funny about dealing with people who actively attempt to undermine the judicial system. I wish you luck in trying to secure a writ of habeas corpus from any judge with a tampering charge hanging around your neck."

XXXXXXX

"Oh, sweet lord," Captain Gates says in the viewing room. "Ryan, get on the phone with the DA's office and have them send someone over here right damn now."

"Has Castle been shadowing an attorney, too?" Espo asks rhetorically. Beckett notices that this question makes Agent Wilson smile, and wonders if the Agent knows something about Castle.

XXXXXXX

"There is another pragmatic benefit of the tampering charge," Castle continues. "It provides the DA with a slam dunk on the case against you. In addition to your own charges, we get to import all of the negativity from the case with which you've interfered. The jury will hear the charges from that case, and that you sold your soul to help that villain cheat justice. And, of course, they'll hear the methods you employed and the types of … associates you involved. You'll be radioactive from the moment the charges are raised in opening arguments."

Davis says nothing, but his swagger is gone. He is listening raptly to Castle's story, and clearly his mind is racing.

Castle, using a technique learned from Beckett, lapses into silence. It takes Davis several moments to realize that the aural assault has paused, and when he looks at Castle, he sees that Castle is well aware that his blows are landing.

Before Davis can try to mount a defense or break the flow of Castle's presentation, the story continues. "The last benefit of the tampering charge is almost not worth mentioning. It's another federal crime, so we're back to the location issue. And the sentencing penalties run sequentially, not concurrently."

XXXXXXX

"Now he's just making things up," Ryan says, having returned from his call with the DA's office.

"Maybe, but there's nothing prohibiting that," replies Gates. "There's no denying that he's got Davis rattled, and it could be that guidelines yield sequential sentences. But even if Castle is flat wrong, we're going to let him run with it."

"His timing is exceptional," Agent Wilson notes. "The pacing has kept Davis from interjecting. It's like the old witch's press."

At the blank stares from the boys, he explains. "In the old days, the press was a way of killing women accused of witchcraft. A stone was placed on a board atop a suspected witch for each alleged offense. More and more stones were added until the weight suffocated the poor woman. Castle keeps dropping the stones, and the weight keeps adding up. And it feels like he's working his way to something bigger."

Beckett agrees with both the assessment and the analogy, but she wishes everyone would just shut up. She is quietly marveling at Castle's competence in the box. It's evidence that he's been paying attention along the way, and she feels a bit of pride in the way she imagines professors must feel with the success of their students.

And while she'd prefer silence, she cheers at the thought of Castle's reaction to knowing that his interrogation technique compelled a discussion of witchcraft.

XXXXXXX

"But sequential or not, federal or not, the length of your sentence doesn't really matter," Castle's matter-of-fact refutation of his own point confuses Davis.

"Why not?" responds Davis, "It isn't a key element of your little story?"

"It doesn't matter," Castle responds, "because you'll be dead within a year, two at the most. Child rapists don't tend to last long in federal penitentiaries. And the methods that they employ to prolong their miserable lives are typically … unpleasant."

XXXXXXX

"I thought that the physical indicated that the girl wasn't touched?" Ryan whispers.

"Davis doesn't know that," replies Gates, with a tone of grim satisfaction.

XXXXXXX

"What the hell are you talking about?" Davis shouts. "I don't know anything about any kid or any … assault."

"As I mentioned, Brooke and I have spent quite a bit of time together since we rescued her. I'm a father myself, you know, and I've taken a shine to Brooke. As a writer, I've invented some truly depraved, despicable characters. But I'm still at a loss as to how you could have abused that beautiful, innocent little girl."

"I didn't touch her!" Davis shouts, eyes large and wild.

"You know that there is a hierarchy in prison, right? A caste system based on the nature the crime for which you're incarcerated. And those who assault children are at the very bottom of the ladder. They're the lepers. I'd call them the untouchables, but it's the opposite in prison: they are the touchable-by-everyones. You seem an educated man – have you read Hobbes? That almost summarizes the life that you'll lead. It will be poor, nasty, brutish, and short, but you'll wish – fervently and frequently – that it was solitary." Castle's voice is chilling, a cold wind rustling over barren branches.

Davis's composure is a thing of the past. "You can't prove anything!" he shouts as he pushes his chair away from the table and begins to pace. "You've got nothing!"

"Not so," says Castle. "You have already confessed that you rented the condo. You've also told us that you don't know either of the murder victims found there. Do you think that a jury will believe that an unknown visitor in your home imprisoned and violated Brooke without your knowledge, consent, or participation?"

"That proves nothing!" Davis rails again, his concern narrowing his focus to simple, raging denials.

"You are mistaken if you think we need to prove anything. The hospital did not find any DNA on Brooke, so the rapist used protection. Which means that if this was one of your colleagues who died in your condo, he left no DNA evidence to exonerate you. So, again, who is the jury to believe – the guy who lied about his identity, who admitted to renting the condo but denied knowing his two guests? I'm confident that the jury won't respond well to that ploy."

"I'll put her on the stand and show that this is all a pack of lies," Davis rambles.

Castle laughs at him, which enrages Davis. "So, your grand defense strategy is to terrorize a beautiful little angel on the stand? To let a slick defense attorney try to victimize her again? You'll be lucky if the jury doesn't lynch you in the courtroom in front of a smiling judge and gallery."

Castle pauses, staring at Davis. He's waiting again, letting the silence drive home the scene that he's described.

Again, just as Davis seems to be screwing up his next denial, Castle cuts in. "And none of it matters. Anything you think of, any defense you try to mount, I can blow away with five words. Five simple words that guarantee your guilt, guarantee you a short, agonizing life. Do you know the words?"

Castle pauses, the raises his voice: "Do you know the words?"

He pauses again, then nearly yells. "Do. You. Know. The. Words?"

Davis is pacing franticly now, eyes darting between Castle, the door, and the one-way mirror. He can't stay still, can't focus on any point for more than a few seconds.

Castle sits calmly in his chair, hands together and on the table in front of him. He mumbles something and Davis's head spins to face him.

Castle murmurs again, low enough that the five words are unintelligible to Davis, who is now pinned in a trap. Davis wants desperately to move, to flee, to escape. But he also wants to know the five words that will seal his fate. And Castle's not giving the words freely – he's forcing Davis to settle down and focus if he wants to know. The tension of these extremes plays across Davis's face as he takes stuttering steps toward and away from his chair at the table. While Davis wrestles with his dilemma, Castle sits quietly, looking almost serene.

XXXXXXX

"This guy's only a consultant? And he's never run an interrogation before?" asks Agent Wilson incredulously.

"_Magnificent_," is Agent Britton's only comment.

Ryan and Esposito look through the glass is stunned silence, wondering about the genesis of Castle's sudden proficiency at tearing a suspect apart.

Beckett doesn't fail to miss the small smile on Captain Gates's face as she watches silently.

XXXXXXX

Finally, Davis throws himself back into his chair and focuses on Castle, who still doesn't speak.

"So?!" spits Davis.

Silence.

"What are your five fucking words?" Davis snarls.

Silence.

"You're full of it," Davis lashes out. "You've got noth-"

"You," Castle beings, holding up his left fist with thumb extended to signal that this is the first word of five.

"Had," Castle's index finger extends.

"The Only," two more fingers.

"Key." Castle's pinky is extended, so that his hand is now in front of him with all fingers extended.

The implications of these five words sink in, and the rooms – interrogation and viewing – are completely still.

The silence extends until finally broken by Davis.

"I want a deal," Davis's small, withdrawn voice cuts the silence, barely. Davis is looking down at the table, looking dejected and defeated.

"No!" roars Castle as his hands slam down on the table, open palms increasing the volume of the impact. Davis topples over backwards in his chair as Castle rises from his. "There's no god damned deal on the table. You're going to hell, you worthless bastard."

* * *

**A/N: This was the chapter that spurred the story and it was the one I most looked forward to writing. I hope it turned out well.**


	7. Chapter 7

Disclaimer: I do not own Castle or the characters used in this story.

_"I want a deal," Davis's small, withdrawn voice cuts the silence, barely. Davis is looking down at the table, looking dejected and defeated._

_"No!" roars Castle as his hands slam down on the table, open palms increasing the volume of the impact. Davis topples over backwards in his chair as Castle rises from his. "There's no god damned deal on the table. You're going to hell, you worthless bastard."_

* * *

Castle's declaration knocks the smile off Captain Gates' face. "What is he doing? We take the deal – get the tampering details, the identities. We need to lock it down, plan out the next steps."

Captain Gates is raising her hand to knock on the glass and interrupt the interrogation when Beckett interjects. "Wait, please, Captain. Castle knows what he's doing. Davis is only broken now – I think Castle is going to make him shatter."

It feels like a melodramatic line from a writer at whom Castle would scoff, but Beckett thinks it's correct, even if inelegantly stated. From his nod, it appears that Agent Wilson agrees.

XXXXXXX

"Our story isn't done yet," Castle begins as he sits back down in his chair. "You know me, as you mentioned when we began our conversation. An author of pulp fiction, playboy socialite, and inveterate gambler, right?"

Davis climbs slowly back into his chair. He sits quietly, drawn in on himself, and makes no effort to respond.

"Some of that reputation is accurate. I love to gamble. Poker primarily, as it's much more about an ability to read people and motivations than just statistical probabilities. But I do well at blackjack, too," Castle's lapsing back into his storytelling voice. "And when I play blackjack, I always split my aces."

Davis barely reacts. He knows that Castle is building to another point, and his experience with Castle's points so far has already dropped him into despair. What more is left?

"I've got two aces here. The case against you is the first. Just with the charges we're talking about, you're looking at a double-digit sentence at least. And, as I've mentioned, I don't expect that you'll be around long enough to run up much of a tab. You might not even make it to trial, which would save the DA the time and resources that he'd otherwise have to waste on a trial where the outcome is already secured."

Davis looks wretched as Castle again summarizes his near-term future. No response, verbal or physical, belies his contemplation.

"The case against your benefactor is my other ace. We already had a strong case. In fact, we don't even need to formally add a tampering charge. One of the fabulous things about juries is that they can't really ignore information they've been instructed to forget. And all we have to do is let the commotion of empanelling a new jury speak for us. The new crew will know that something extreme, maybe even dangerous, led to the reshuffling of a trial that already looked like gold for the prosecution. Throw in a few well-aimed comments from counsel, and it's a nice coat of wax on the cannonball that's already poised to blow your benefactor out of the water."

"So, what would I get by offering you a deal?" Castle asks rhetorically. "I've already got you for the rest of your life. I've already got your associate for more years than there is life remaining to live. Why would I give you anything? You have nothing I could possibly want. So I'll split my aces, go home tonight to a nice warm fire and glass of wine, kick my feet up and toast your demise. What can you give me that surpasses that vision?"

Castle's looking directly into Davis' eyes. It's not a glare – it's an inquisitive stare, maybe even a dare. The story that Castle has spun paints a vivid picture of a horribly brief, tortured life. Davis is thinking hard about what he can possibly provide to avert such a possibility.

More than five minutes pass. Castle, renowned for his inability to sit still, is a picture of placidity. He's content to wait until Gates has to enter the room to book Davis on the charges that Castle has laid out. But Castle is confident that this interrogation will resolve in a different way.

His patience is rewarded when Davis finally looks up from the tabletop where his focus has remained since he was unable to meet Castle's eyes.

Davis has clearly come to a decision. He takes a deep breath, holds it for a few seconds before releasing it.

Then, in a clear voice, Davis says "I can show you where he hid the money. Cartwright. I know where the money is."

* * *

Assistant District Attorney Allan Carver had only been in the viewing room for a few minutes, during which Castle had sat silently and Davis had stared at the table. With Davis' statement, he chokes and spits out his coffee.

"Did he just say Cartwright? As in Leonard Cartwright, the financier currently on trial for fraud and embezzlement? That's tens, maybe hundreds of millions of dollars. And this guy knows where it's hidden?!" Carver pants while trying to blot the coffee from his tie.

It's suddenly pandemonium in the observation room. Carver has been here for less than ten minutes and is already in far over his head, calling back to the DA's office to get instructions. Agent Wilson is on his cellphone, giving rapid-fire instructions to someone on the other end of the line. Agent Britton stands nearby, phone to her ear, but also poised with pad and pen in hand to note anything from Wilson.

Captain Gates pulls in her detectives and signals to Carver. "Detective Beckett, get in there with Castle. You can tell Davis that we'll drop at least one, maybe two of the charges Castle laid out and accept the minimum sentencing recommendations on whatever remains, with consideration to where he'll serve his time. If you need to, you can go as low as five years, but no lower. If you end up there, remind him that good behavior would get him out in three, and that he might find his safety more assured if he's locked away while the Cartwright case resolves. I want you to twist Davis, wring every single drop of information from him. Including his damned name."

Gates turns. "Detective Ryan, I want you on the line with the Cartwright prosecutors. Court's almost over for the day and we need them to come straight here. If their jury is compromised, their prep for tonight is blown anyway. And something tells me that we'll need their resources to run down whatever Castle and Beckett get on the location of the stolen funds."

"Detective Esposito, I want you here in the observation room until Davis reveals his identity as well as those of the homicide victims and the little girl. Then you run point on identifying how the girl is tied to the Cartwright jury. I'll talk with Agent Wilson and we'll get you a team to vet all the jurors – if Angel was taken to coerce a juror, it's likely that there are others who have been, or have chosen to be, compromised."

"We might redeploy our effort once Beckett completes the confession. But for now, get moving. ADA Carver, will you come with me? Agent Britton, let's meet in my office as soon as Agent Wilson completes his call." With that, Gates is the first out the door as the team disperses to push the suddenly invigorated investigation.

* * *

Though she tried to get there earlier, it is still more than two hours later when Beckett is able to break away from the investigation to check in with Castle. Feeling slightly guilty, she heads toward the lounge. Williams must be back on duty; she's outside the door and talking with another officer, a woman that Beckett doesn't recognize. Both nod to Beckett as she approaches the doorway and looks inside.

Castle is singing quietly and he dances around the room, a drowsy Angel – no, Brooke – on his shoulder. Beckett leans on the doorframe and just watches, relaxing in the sight and sound of Castle's low voice. It's a minute or two before Castle notices, and he doesn't stop when he does. He gives her a grand smile and continues his song. Brooke's arms are now limp at her sides, showing that the girl is asleep in Castle's arms. It's early, just around 7:00, so sleeping now probably doesn't bode well for later this evening.

"We have some dinner for you," Castle says quietly, angling his head toward the table where an order from the deli awaits her. "I bet you haven't eaten since lunch, if then."

"How do you do it, Castle?" Beckett asks, distracted from the reasons for her visit. "How do you care so much for others?"

"That's a conversation for another time and place, Detective. And with a smaller audience. For now, let's just say that you can't deflect my effort to get you refueled." Castle says with a smile.

"Don't think that you can get yourself out of trouble with my favorite sandwich and a bag of chips," Beckett taunts. "You won't always have a little girl to hide behind."

"Who says that I'm in trouble? Sorry, dumb question. How about this one instead: why do I still have a girl to hide behind?" Castle asks. "We know who she is, why is she still here?"

"It's a mess, Castle. We're nearly off the case," Beckett grumps. "With Lanie's exam results and the identities of the victims, our homicides are nearly closed. SEC agents are tracking the money. The Feds are working the jury corruption angle. There's a concern that other jurors are compromised or complicit. If we take Brooke home now, it might be observed and trigger terrible retribution for others in the same situation. So, we're racing the clock again. The goal is to be ready to re-arrest Cartwright when his trial resumes at 9:00 tomorrow morning. By then, we need to be ready to roll up the jury, lock down Cartwright's accounts, and be ready to move on any other "Mr. Davis"es that pop up. But I'll tell you this: I'll be at the courthouse at 9:00 when we meet Cartwright, and I'll drive Brooke's mom here myself."

"So, it's her mom on jury?" asks Castle.

"Her mom's the foreperson. Elayne Eaton. She's a 29 year old single mother, an assistant professor in NYU's math department," Beckett explains. Quietly, she follows by saying "she doesn't know that we have Brooke."

"I get it. They might be watching her. She might blow the cover. Cartwright stole enough money to purchase fleets of watchers," Castle says. "Come on, eat your sandwich. You don't have to soft-pedal me here, Beckett, I understand. It's enough to know the timing. Brooke will be disappointed, but it sounds like I can promise her that she'll be back with her mom for lunch tomorrow. That'll be enough to get her through the night."

"You're very good, you know," Beckett answers.

Castle chuckles and gives the obligatory eyebrow wiggle. "Oh, I know I'm very, very good. You don't. But I suspect we're talking about different things. What were you thinking I'm very good at – dancing? Singing? Securing sustenance for my partner?"

"At avoiding the issue. I'm going to get the full story about how you figured this out." Beckett replies, without the laughter. "About why you left me in the dark."

Oh, damn. She sounds hurt. She's not, not really. But she knows Castle, knows him like no one else does. How could Castle have cracked this wide open when everyone else was leagues behind? How could she not have realized the Castle would be so good at this?

"Hey. Beckett," Castle calls out softly, apparently not for the first time while she's been thinking. "It's all yours – I'll tell you anything you want, everything you want. Right now, with her asleep, I need to leave her with Williams and give my statement. But later tonight, tomorrow, whenever we can take the time, I'll tell you anything you want to know."

* * *

Beckett recalls Castle's promise of openness when she collapses into bed just shy of 2 AM. While her team's role had been minimized with the closure of the homicides, their presence on the case from the outset put them in the position of integrating the different arms of the investigation, organizing and coordinating joint efforts, and keeping all parties informed while also taking active steps to ensure information security. The less advance notice that Cartwright and his attorneys have, the more likely the following activity will be quick and effective.

Captain Gates had spent the day ensuring that the 12th's role in the investigation is highlighted and maintained. Beckett doesn't begrudge the Captain her time in the spotlight – she handles it well, defends her precinct, and ensures that the Feds or SEC don't take undue credit or freeze out the NYPD. This is a career-making case, one that might affect upcoming elections, and many interested parties are circling to bask in the glow.

It still surprises her, after all this time, about how these grand crimes and conspiracies sprawl, and how pulling on an unrelated thread can unravel such a massive criminal endeavor. This one started with an early morning call – less than 48 hours ago – about two guys who probably killed each other. That led to kidnapping, imprisonment, tampering, and fraud and embezzlement. It's like something that Castle would write, so maybe it's appropriate that he played so prominent a role in uncovering the truth. How it will burn Cartwright if he ever realizes that it all unraveled because of Castle's fascination with a bookshelf.

She didn't get to talk to Castle again, though she did see him. The first two times she stopped by, Brooke was distraught. Beckett didn't know if her distress was due to nightmares or separation from her mother or something else. On both occasions, Castle was tending to her – singing, holding, swaying, talking, fussing. And on both occasions the officers in the room (first Williams, and later Martinez) stepped out to talk with Beckett. The officers were very interested in case updates, and both wished that they had been more directly involved.

She missed Castle again on her last visit, shortly before she left the precinct. Brooke was laid out on the couch, again buried in blankets but with one arm sticking out. Castle was again sleeping in the chair. He's going to be even more sore in the morning. There might be some melancholy from the end of the case and in sending Brooke home, but she suspects that a night in an actual bed will provide some comfort. She didn't linger to watch Castle sleep. She didn't need to moon over her partner with Martinez observing. So she headed home, her curiosity about how Castle broke Davis still unresolved. The lingering mystery didn't overcome her exhaustion as she collapsed into slumber.


	8. Chapter 8

Disclaimer: I do not own Castle or the characters used in this story.

_She missed Castle again on her last visit, shortly before she left the precinct. Brooke was laid out on the couch, again buried in blankets but with one arm sticking out. Castle was again sleeping in the chair. He's going to be even more sore in the morning. There might be some melancholy from the end of the case and in sending Brooke home, but she suspects that a night in an actual bed will provide some comfort. She didn't linger to watch Castle sleep. She didn't need to moon over her partner with Martinez observing. So she headed home, her curiosity about how Castle broke Davis still unresolved. The lingering mystery didn't overcome her exhaustion as she collapsed into slumber._

* * *

Normally, less than five hours of sleep would leave Beckett feeling sluggish, but the events scheduled for this morning have her invigorated. She'll crash by mid-afternoon, but a slowdown by then won't matter. She's so focused on the upcoming confrontation with Cartwright that she's exiting the elevator before she realizes that she didn't even think to stop for coffee. She's just considering whether she has time to turn around when she feels a hand on her lower back.

"Good morning, Detective," Castle greets her. "You look like you're ready to take down a titan, but perhaps I could tempt you to power up first?" And with that, he completes his morning ritual of passing a coffee to her. It tastes heavenly.

"Castle, you went out for coffee?" she asks, surprised. She assumes that he wouldn't have taken Brooke out of the precinct, but also wonders how he could have gotten time alone, especially this morning.

"I managed to get cleaned up while she was still sleeping, so I got to go out while Martinez helps her in the locker room. I needed some fresh air after being cooped up here all day yesterday," Castle mentions. "Besides, I figured that this is a hot chocolate morning for Brooke." He nods towards the tray in his hand. "But, I couldn't juggle five cups, so Ryan and Espo have to go back to fending for themselves."

"I'll tell you what, Castle," Beckett bargains. "I'll cover for you on the coffee and protect you if they find out, but you'll join me for lunch? This case is going to go public in a big way today, and I want to hear your story before I read it."

"You won't see my story in the paper, just the outcome. And, with any luck, some pictures of Cartwright breaking down." Castle's sounds like he would relish Cartwright's distress – probably best to make sure that Castle's not permitted within arm's reach of him. "But, I'd join you for lunch anytime, Beckett. No excuse or bargaining necessary."

Before they can continue their discussion, Martinez and Brooke emerge from the elevator. Brooke is wearing a beautiful green dress. It's a "special occasion" outfit, for which Beckett's sure Martha or Alexis made a dedicated shopping trip. Brooke's hair is only towel-dry, and Martinez hands Castle a hair dryer as she and Brooke reach them. Castle smiles and says "let's get you ready to see your mom," and they head back toward the lounge.

* * *

Cartwright made off* with enough money to ensure top legal representation, and his attorneys are quick to notice that something is amiss this morning. The first tip-off is the media. The nature of the allegations in the Cartwright trial has guaranteed a media presence, but it's been low key since opening arguments. Today, the gallery is nearly full with media, and these are not beat reporters in attendance but recognizable faces from network, cable, radio, and web broadcasts. Cartwright's legal team assumes (correctly) that someone from the prosecutor's office tipped the media that something big would happen today, and further assumes (incorrectly) that this has to do with some key witness testimony or new motion pleading.

Nerves are further strained when 9:00 comes and goes without an appearance from the judge. This isn't that unusual, as judges tend to be autocratic about how they run their courtrooms and have emergency issues that arise and must be addressed. But, combined with the media presence, Cartwright's attorneys are on full alert.

Klaxons sound in the attorneys' minds when the judge finally enters 20 minutes late, accompanied by several extra bailiffs, and without calling for the jury. This abnormality tips the media, who know only that they are there for something interesting. The main doors open to allow a procession of law enforcement officers, those more relevant to the investigation or most able to position themselves in the spotlight of the media.

The enforcement procession approaches the gate that separates counsel tables from the gallery. At this point the judge gives them permission to enter, and Agent Wilson asks Cartwright to stand. The protestations of Cartwright's attorneys are ignored as Wilson places their client under arrest and recites the Miranda rights.

The judge at this point interjects and informs all attorneys present that she is declaring a mistrial on the basis of the jury tampering charges against Cartwright. Defense counsel notes immediately that this is not a surprise to the prosecutors, who must have been privy to the allegations.

Cartwright's first-chair attorney signals the rest of his team to be silent. They are in treacherous waters – the mistrial and additional charges promise more litigation ahead. This would result in higher billings, but also a larger potential hit to the firm's reputation, especially depending on what, exactly, Cartwright allegedly did to sway the jury (and if anything can be tied to his legal team). It'll be tricky enough to work this issue through with his partners without errant comments in court constraining their ability to pursue a vigorous defense for their client later, or, if need be, affecting their ability to remove themselves as counsel.

Cartwright himself is unmoved by any of the commotion. His life and lifestyle were already forfeit; there was slim chance that he could escape the charges against him. He had already conducted his own trade-off: surrender what remained of the funds that he held in order to secure a greater chance of an impoverished freedom, or go to prison with the hope of accessing those funds sometime in the future. He'd bet on the latter. He suspects that discovery of his efforts to secure the jury also means that investigators are probably on the trail of his hidden assets. If so, he's lost the bargaining chip he had already planned not to use.

So, to a casual observer (courtesy of the media), Cartwright looks unaffected by the proceedings, in great contrast to the passion shown by law enforcement personnel. It provides an obvious narrative for the media coverage – the arrogant financier who couldn't stop abusing the system and is unaffected and unapologetic when caught – that feeds into the already-present public disdain of corporate greed.

Beckett observes from the hallway outside the courtroom, staying only long enough to see Cartwright in cuffs. Then she walks briskly down the hallway and past the temporary checkpoint put in place by the US Marshals Service.

One of the marshals detaches from the detail to escort Beckett to a side room, where Elayne Eaton paces nervously. Beckett knew that she was a young mother, but is surprised by how young she looks. She appears more like an athlete than a math professor – a lithe runner's build, blond hair pulled back in a ponytail. She would be lovely, if not for the tears running down her cheeks and her countenance of utter distress.

"Dr. Eaton, my name is Kate Beckett. I'm a detective with the NYPD, and I'm here to escort you to your daughter."

"Oh, thank god!" Dr. Eaton exclaims, sinking into a chair before shooting immediately back up. "Is she okay? Where is she? Did they hurt her? When did you…," at this point, Dr. Eaton stops, too choked up to continue. Tears stream down her cheeks, though she manages not to sob. "All they told me was that she was at the police station, but then they wouldn't answer any questions and left me here, all alone."

"Dr. Eaton," Beckett replies kindly. "The other officers might have been curt, but they are just trying to protect you and your daughter. We need to take your statement and we don't want to affect your recollection. Ideally, we'd do that now, but we'll wait until after we get you back to Brooke. Would you like to see her now?"

"Oh, please. Please," says Dr. Eaton gratefully.

"I've parked out back," says Beckett. "We want to keep you away from the media, and I think we'd both like to avoid the spectacle around Cartwright. Right this way."

After getting into the cruiser and working through the initial traffic, Beckett breaks the silence that's pervaded since they left the courthouse. "Dr. Eaton, I should limit what you hear about the situation, at least until we've taken your statement. But I can provide some information that might help put your mind at ease."

"I'm not sure I can imagine my mind being at ease anytime soon," Dr. Eaton offers around a teary chuckle. "But, I'd love to hear anything you can tell me."

"We found your daughter Monday morning," Beckett begins. "Actually, my partner found her. He rescued her and hasn't left her side since. Don't worry – we've made sure that there is always a female officer with them. But Brooke has taken a real shine to Castle. He's got a daughter of his own, and I think the time they spent together helped your daughter after her ordeal."

Dr. Eaton is nodding through Beckett's explanation, the look of distress slowly easing from her face.

"Can I ask you a question, Dr. Eaton?" Beckett continues after a slight pause.

"Please, call me Elayne. Yes, ask me anything."

"Brooke hasn't spoken since we found her, or written. I still don't know how my partner discovered her name," Beckett is frustrated to admit. "And knowing her name cracked this whole case open," she embellishes.

Dr. Eaton looks out the passenger window, and Beckett thinks that she's not going to answer. "Brooke's father was … a mistake. It shouldn't have happened. I was looking for a way to cut loose, be a little wild, challenge peoples' thoughts of me. It was a brief fling that left me with the gift of her."

Beckett starts to regret asking the question. This feels like a confession, like a private truth being dredged out for a stranger's benefit. Her only hope is that this somehow helps to unburden the young mom before she is reunited with her daughter.

"She was almost four before he came around again," Dr. Eaton continues. "He was still a bad boy, but I fell for the romantic trope that the love of a young child can bring parents together. Even when there wasn't love there to begin with. I was foolish enough to think that he only acted bad, but he was bad, all the way down. He came over one night, frustrated that we hadn't rekindled the physical aspect of our relationship. He was drunk. He yelled, cursed, said horrible things. Then he hit me. Kicked me. I curled up in a ball until he stopped. But as I cried and crawled to my phone, I saw my baby girl on the stairs. I don't know exactly what she saw, but she hasn't spoken since that day."

_Oh, god._ _Nice move, Beckett_, she mentally chastises herself. _Way to lighten the mood and distract her from her current tragedy._

"He's dead now," Dr. Eaton says. "He died within an hour of attacking me. Lost control of his car and died in the wreck. I like to think that it was divine intervention, or karma."

"I'm so sorry," Beckett murmurs. "I had no idea. I never meant to pry." Beckett's pulling into a parking spot near the precinct, anxious to arrive and finally witness a joyous event after the sorrow of this week. She sends Castle a text: _**There in 5 minutes**_.

"Your partner – Castle? – must really be something," Dr. Eaton says. "Brooke's experience with father figures hasn't given her any reason to trust men."

"It helps that he never really grew up. I think kids recognize a kindred spirit," Beckett says, expressing a theory she's been considering. "He's less jaded and more gentle than the rest of us. I should have mentioned that my partner isn't a cop. He's a writer who consults with the NYPD."

It's not clear that Dr. Eaton is even listening. They've cleared the precinct's metal detector and are awaiting the elevator. At this point, Beckett wonders if Dr. Eaton is hearing or seeing much of anything, or if tunnel vision has set in as she looks forward for her daughter.

When the creaking elevator finally arrives to take them up to the fourth floor, Dr. Eaton doesn't even wait for the doors to retract all the way before she's stepping through. Meanwhile, Beckett wonders if they shouldn't have opted for the stairs after the tragedies this woman and her daughter have already endured. The jarring lurch as the elevator starts upward doesn't provide any assurances.

The ride up to the Homicide floor is silent. Not tense, thinks Beckett, but expectant. Dr. Eaton is up on her toes and leaning forward as if pulling the car up faster by will alone. When they finally shudder to a halt and the doors retract, Beckett is delighted to see that Castle has prepared for their arrival.

He and Brooke stand about 25 yards down the hallway, just enough space to let Brooke build up speed as she hurtles towards her mother. In addition to the beautiful dress, Brooke clutches in her fist the few flowers that Castle hasn't woven into her hair, a gift for her mom.

Dr. Eaton is already off and running, dropping to her knees just before she reaches her daughter so that they are nearly at the same level when they collide. They cling together as they weep tears of joy, the mom cooing words of love while the daughter holds tight as if to never let go.

The hallway must be dusty, because Beckett's eyes are getting a little misty. She sees Castle approaching in her blurry peripheral vision and prepares for the ribbing that she's sure is about to arrive. She looks up to face the teasing head-on, but sees instead a gentle smile, crinkled eyes, and tear tracks on his cheeks. After briefly clasping her hand and whispering a rough "Thank you," Castle turns back to bask in the glow of the reunion. As warm and wonderful as this moment feels, Beckett can't help but miss the phantom pressure of his hand on hers.

It's probably close to ten minutes before the mother and daughter pull back from each other long enough to register their surroundings. Dr. Eaton is rubbing at her cheeks when Castle steps forward and offers a handkerchief. She wipes her cheeks quickly and jostles her daughter a bit so that she can stand up while still holding her close. She grasps Castle's extended hand and jolts a bit as he helps pull her to her feet.

"You're Richard Castle," says Dr. Eaton.

"And you must be Dr. Elayne Eaton, Brooke's mom," smiles Castle in return.

"Detective Beckett said 'Castle' and I didn't think she could mean you and she said 'writer' but I didn't think and it's you and you've been taking care of Brooke and I know you well I don't know you but I know your books and I, I, oh, thank you!" Dr. Eaton, flustered and rambling and crying again, wraps Castle into a hug with one arm while the other cradles Brooke.

It's a brief hug and Castle steps back as Dr. Eaton releases her hold. "Doctor," he says, "there are some officers who would like to talk to you. Why don't you spend a little time with Brooke before they arrive. I'll take you to where she's been staying and she can show you the projects she's made. I suspect they'll let you keep her with you while you give your statement, but I can watch her for you if you'd prefer."

"Please call me Elayne, Mr. Castle," says Dr. Eaton as they walk towards the lounge.

"I'm Rick to my friends and those who can draw better than I can," he says, while giving Brooke a challenging look. "This is Lisa Holloway, an excellent officer and terrible art critic. She helped protect Brooke while she's been at the precinct. And at the doctor's office, too. Holloway, this is Brooke's mother, Dr. Elayne Eaton of NYU."

The women shake hands and Holloway begins to take her leave after praising Brooke. "Castle, it's been an experience. Next time you need some help _outside_ of the precinct or you find yourself on the second floor, give me a call," Holloway says with a wave and a lingering look over her shoulder as she heads toward the stairs.

"Don't even think about it, Castle," Beckett says in something between a purr and a growl. "Now that we know you're actually good for something, we might have to put your services to better use."

"As you wish, Detective. As you wish."

* * *

As Castle and Beckett head back to her desk, she turns and says "We're still on for lunch, right? It wasn't much fun to escort Elayne back here and not be able to tell her how you figured this out."

"Nice try, Beckett, but your attempt to guilt me falls far short of the mark. We both know that you couldn't tell her anything until after she's given her statement," he says smugly. "But yes, we're on for lunch, unless that crowd ahead means otherwise."

It looks like the first waves of arrests relating to the Cartwright trial are arriving for booking and statements. Beckett explains "We're just overflow – Homicide was involved from the start, but it's a Corruption case now. It looks like four jurors accepted bribes, and another was being extorted. So, Cartwright had his hooks into five jurors and one of the alternates. He was even greedy about his trial."

"I don't suppose he was foolish enough to pay any of the bribes by wire transfer," Castle wonders.

"Actually, White Collar is running that down. It might be another way to get to the assets that faux Davis told us about," replies Beckett, impressed to hear that Castle is still thinking about the other dimensions of the case.

"So," Castle continues, "Homicide is out, relegated to clean up status? Should I be offended that your work is unappreciated, or happy that someone else has to handle the paperwork?"

Beckett is surprised by the writer's choice of pronouns. "It's _our _work Castle – you're part of us, too. Probably the most important part on this case." She pauses to look at him, to drive home the point. She can show him that she appreciates his contributions, even if she stumbles on articulating that gratitude. "As far as credit goes, don't worry about Homicide. Gates is making sure that no one forgets where this whole circus started."

"She's actually done really well," Beckett admits as she continues. "Handling the different NYPD divisions, the Feds, and the press. She's good."

As if summoned by the praise, Captain Gates sticks her head out of her office and calls out "Detective Beckett – we still need to close those homicides, and the sooner the better. Where are we on those?"

"I was just about to head over to see the ME to get what we need to close the file. I'll be back within an hour, and we should be wrapped by lunch," Beckett replies.

This prompts a quick nod from Gates, who the disappears back into her office.

"I think I'm going to stay here at the precinct," Castle says while looking back toward the lounge. "Just in case Brooke shouldn't be around for her mom's statement. Unless you'd like me to accompany you…"

"No, Castle," Beckett replies, "I'm grateful that you asked, but I think that you're right. You should stick around here, just in case. I'll be quick. I could probably handle this by phone and email, but I want to see Lanie."

"A coffee for the road, Detective?" Castle suggests.

"Best. Partner. Ever." Beckett replies with a smile.

* * *

**A/N: Three chapters left.**

***: Couldn't resist the homophone.**


	9. Chapter 9

Disclaimer: I do not own Castle or the characters used in this story.

_"A coffee for the road, Detective?" Castle suggests._

_"Best. Partner. Ever." Beckett replies with a smile._

* * *

"Hey Lanie," Beckett says as she pushes through the swinging doors of the morgue.

"Hi, Kate!" Lanie replies, rising from her paperwork-covered desk. "I didn't expect to see you. I could have just emailed the pictures and you could've called with any questions. But I'm glad to see you. Up for an early lunch?" Lanie asks as she hands over a folder of forms, reports, and photos to Beckett.

"No, thanks. I'm having lunch with Castle and I'm not letting him slip out of it. He sent this, by the way. An apology for the other morning, he said," She hands the travel mug of coffee to Lanie.

"That's sweet," Lanie says with a smile, "but he still owes me a round at the Haunt."

"He said you'd hold him to that. Does tomorrow night work? He wants to spend time with Alexis tonight, but he's up for a night out tomorrow," Beckett says.

"Sounds good. We'd better get on his calendar while we can," Lanie replies.

Lanie's comment confuses Beckett, and she tilts her head to the side. "What are you talking about, Lanie? Where's Castle going?"

Lanie casts her friend a suspicious look to see if she's being facetious or intentionally obtuse. Seeing nothing but an inquisitive look, Lanie wonders how a detective who is so good at investigating crimes can be so clueless in other aspects of her life. She pauses while thinking about how to tiptoe through this minefield.

"Kate," she asks, "what was the first thing about Castle that made you start to think that he might not be a complete jackass?"

Wondering at the direction the conversation has taken, Beckett responds almost automatically. "Alexis. The way he is as a father. And as a son. Regardless of his reputation, his behavior, anything else – he is wonderful to his family." She pauses for a moment, thinking back to when she first started to learn these things about him. "He has such a beautiful relationship with his daughter," she concludes almost wistfully.

"Exactly. Everybody knows the basics about Castle – famous, wealthy, charming. Hot." This earns her a raised eyebrow from Beckett. "But, he's always been careful to keep his family life out of the news. In the past few days, he's let people see him as a father. You might not agree," Lanie says, looking skeptical, "but many women find that pretty damned alluring. And if Espo's noticed that the halls of the precinct are suddenly choked with women checking out Castle, you must have noticed, too?"

Beckett starts to object, but then stops. Now that she thinks about it, there have been a lot of unfamiliar faces around Homicide this week. The visitors from Burglary, the people checking in on Castle, Agent Britton loitering in doorways.

"So, you have noticed, but you didn't connect it to Castle?" Lanie asks, recognizing the faraway look in Beckett's eyes. Given the lack of a response, Lanie continues. "You had him to yourself for the last three years. The longer he's here, the more people are going to get to know him. With all the attention he's brought to your team, I'm a little surprised that others haven't tried to make a play for him."

"Actually, maybe they have. I heard that he's a familiar face down in Vice," Beckett responds, still thinking about whether others would like to have a writer tagging along on their investigations.

"Miller's fiancé's party? I'm not sure that counts as 'hanging out in Vice,'" Lanie chuckles.

"You knew about that?" Beckett is shocked.

"I heard about it," Lanie replies cagily. "I heard that Castle knows how to be a good host. And I don't just mean covering the party. He got his car service to ferry the boys around so that there wouldn't be any … vehicular issues to embarrass Miller or the precinct."

"I had no idea," Beckett replies. "Where was I when all this was happening?"

"Not paying attention, clearly. But you're asking the wrong question, honey. Where you were doesn't matter. What matters is what you're going to do about it. I know you go back and forth about whether to throw Castle down and have your wicked way with him ...," Lanie starts, but Beckett cuts her off.

"What? Please. That's not true at all," Beckett denies, but knows she's not going to get away with it.

The flat stare from Lanie starts almost before Beckett's denial. "Girl, please. I have eyes. I've seen you ready to throttle him, and I've seen you mooning. More mooning, lately. I'm not necessarily pushing you at him – you need to make your own choices."

"So, what _are_ you saying?" Beckett's asks in frustration.

"What I'm _saying_," Lanie's voice is exasperated, "is that Castle already attracted a lot of attention and he'll get more now. If your plan is to let him wait while you figure out what you want, you need to know that more women will be interested in him. He's going to have … opportunities."

This is not why Beckett came to see Lanie in person. She wanted a break, a chance to step outside of the precinct, chat with her friend, remind herself that there's a bigger, brighter world out there. One where little girls don't watch their moms get beaten before being kidnapped. But, instead, she's somehow fallen into a conversation about one of the most confusing aspects of her life.

Beckett breaks her introspection with a quiet voice. "He said he'd wait."

"What?" Lanie asks in surprise. "You guys have talked about this?" Lanie is shocked that Beckett and Castle might have actually addressed an emotional issue directly, and hurt that she hadn't already heard about this development in her friend's life.

"Well, in a way," Kate backtracks. "We talked about my defenses, about how I hope that I can bring them down and start a real relationship someday."

"That's it?" Lanie asks, when it becomes clear that Beckett isn't offering anything more.

"Did he know that you were talking about him?" Lanie probes. "Actually, _were_ you talking about a relationship with him?"

Damn it. This is exactly the question that's bothered Beckett ever since their sojourn to the swings. She can't answer Lanie's question because she still doesn't know the answer herself. She knows that she's heading inexorably toward Castle. She feels like her sessions with Dr. Burke are helping her, balancing her in a way that she hadn't anticipated. But while she knows where her head is at now, it wouldn't be fair to say that she had that clarity when she had her conversation with Castle. Her driving need then was to reconstruct her life as it had been before the shooting. Back then, contemplating any changes was terrifying – she just needed to get back to where she was before the shooting to start moving forward. But she knows how terrible that is, feels like a smaller person for having pursued her needs surreptitiously when Castle would have given freely.

Beckett is still working out her reasoning and feelings. So she keeps her counsel and remains silent in the face of Lanie's question, accepting that this makes her look just as bad as she's behaved.

"So, you're trusting that his hope for a future with you will be enough to keep him waiting." Lanie's choking herself now, torn between laying into Beckett for treating Castle so shabbily and being a supportive friend. As much as it galls her, she treads the middle path. "I … hope you know what you're doing."

* * *

Beckett's still in a daze when she returns to the precinct. The boys are at their desks, Beckett notices as she walks past them to check in with Castle. When she gets to the lounge, though, she sees Dr. Eaton speaking with some detectives from Fraud. From the clothing, it looks like there's a new FBI agent in the room, too. Brooke sits on her mother's lap, but there's no sign of Castle.

Spinning in place to head back to her desk, Beckett catches a glimpse of Castle out of the corner of her eye. He's in the conference room that the FBI agents commandeered, sitting at the table and talking with Agents Wilson and Britton. If he's occupied, she might as well close out the homicide files as she promised Gates. Sinking into her chair and booting up her computer, she settles in.

Nearly 15 minutes later, she's finishing the files when the conference room door opens and Agent Wilson emerges. While he heads towards Gates' office, Agent Britton approaches the door to the conference room. Rather than exit, though, she closes the door and turns back to Castle, who had stood in preparation to leave.

Feeling like a voyeur, Beckett watches the Agent approach Castle. She stands too close to him, clearly stepping into his personal space. Any thought that this might be a professional discussion are blown away when Britton reaches up and places a hand on Castle's upper arm, almost on his chest. They are speaking as the hand slides slowly down his arm to his forearm before falling to grasp his hand.

"Detective Beckett," Captain Gates calls from her office, tearing Beckett from her observations before she could see if Castle had dropped Britton's hand or stepped away. "I'm heading over to 1PP. Are the homicides cleared?"

"Yes, sir," Beckett replies. "I've just finished the reports and," Beckett bends to strikes a few keys on her computer, "just filed them. We're done."

"Good. While I'm out, I'd like you to remain here in case anything comes up and needs to be addressed. I trust that you'll be able to protect the interests of the NYPD and the 12th in that case?" Gates asks with a raised brow.

"Of course, sir," says Beckett. While she had hoped for lunch out of the precinct, she's flattered by Gates' trust in her. Besides, nothing says that they can't eat in. After all, they do it often enough.

"From where would you like lunch, Detective?" Beckett spins in her chair to see Castle approaching her desk. Of course he heard Gates' directive, and has already adjusted the plans. Agent Britton is nowhere in sight.

"Surprise me?" Beckett responds with a smile.

"Oh, be careful, Detective. You might get more than you expect," Castle's eager to play, or at least to distract, she thinks.

Two can play this game. "But Castle, I'm so, _so_ _hungry_," she says in a low purr.

Ordinarily, this would be the place where Castle trips, forgets to breathe, chokes on his tongue, or lets his elbow slip off the desk. But today he simply lets fly with the roughest, smokiest voice that she can recall hearing outside of a bedroom. "Then I'd better give you _exactly_ what you want."

"What's that Castle, you're picking up lunch?" Ryan asks, crashing the party. Looking at Beckett and getting a quick nod, Castle turns to the boys, whom he'd completely ignored in his back-and-forth with Beckett.

"Sure, I'll get lunch. Back in 20 or so. You think we can reclaim the conference room from the Feds?" Castle asks.

"Damn straight we can," Esposito exclaims. "And I'm not sharing my lunch."

* * *

Nearly half-an-hour later, Castle returns bearing food. Rather than their usual Chinese or Thai options, he opted for a kebab place, with savory chunks of steak and chicken, vegetables, rice, and salad. He starts to lay it out buffet style, almost as if they were eating in someone's kitchen. It's Castle's attempt to provide a little comfort, a little shelter from the frenetic life of the precinct.

Beckett joins him, helping lay out the small feast. "So, what did the Feds want with you?" she asks, thinking back to his time in the conference room with the two agents, then just Britton.

"I think they were just feeling me out," Castle comments while pulling paper plates and plastic utensils from a bag. Meanwhile, Beckett thinks that this is an interesting euphemism for Britton's advances.

"They were a bit opaque, but there was a reference to the character possibilities of federal agents, as if I haven't written or shadowed them before," Castle continues, unaware that Beckett had watched part of his conversation. "They laid it on thick – Agent Shaw provided a uncharacteristically positive recommendation, notable interrogation skills, impressive team dynamics, blah blah blah. Wilson mentioned that they'd be amenable to working together again."

"It's good to have friends," Beckett says carefully.

"'_Opportunities_' is the word that Agent Wilson kept emphasizing," Castle says as he finishes with the table.

Beckett considers whether she should be bold enough to ask about what "opportunities" Agent Britton mentioned to Castle when she's derailed by the arrival of Ryan and Esposito. They are preparing to tuck in when the lounge door down the hall opens and Dr. Eaton emerges with Brooke. Castle reaches into the breast pocket of his jacket and withdraws something before stepping into the hallway. Figuring that she can justify it as the precinct's representative, Beckett follows.

"Heading home?" Castle asks Dr. Eaton.

"Yes, finally. It will be so good to get her back into her home, get back to our lives. I can't thank you enough for what you've done. It's because of you that we have the chance to go back," she says, starting to tear up again.

"Hey now, no tears," Castle says with good humor. "We're in the happy ending. The bad guys are locked up and we're all okay, ready to go home and spend time with the people we love. It's time to count blessings and celebrate."

"Thank you," Dr. Eaton says, making a visible effort to cheer herself up. "And thank you for letting us borrow this," she says while extending a duffle bag with the supplies Alexis had brought to Castle.

"No, no, those are for Brooke. My daughter's 17, so they won't fit her, and none of the dresses are really my color. But I do have a few things for you, too."

Castle hands her a card, one of the papers in his hand. "This is the number for Paula Haas, my publicist. I've shared the broadest details with her, only enough for her to know that you were involved in an investigation and that there might be subsequent publicity. Paula has been _very_ effective at keeping my daughter out of the news, regardless of my shenanigans. If you are concerned about media focus, especially on Brooke, please call Paula and she'll take care of it. And the offer is open – you don't have to call her now, but if things get hot later, she's there to help."

"Mr. Castle, I couldn't possibly…," Dr. Eaton starts, but then trails off. While she feels indebted already and that makes her want to reject further assistance, she hadn't thought that the media might be interested in them. Perhaps she should hang onto this option, just in case.

"Next card," continues Castle. "This is for Dr. Angela Palmer, a therapist. I'm not going to offer any details or ask any questions. I'll just say that she is very good and if you think you or Brooke might benefit from talking to someone, I highly recommend her. Enough said."

Dr. Eaton nods but doesn't speak. She'd already been thinking about this and has decided to go ahead. She'll look into this Dr. Palmer.

Beckett, meanwhile, files away the thought that she might not be the only one in her partnership spending time with a therapist.

"Last card," Castle says. "This is my cell number. If you or Brooke have any trouble, please give me a call and we'll figure it out. At the very least," Castle continues, "I'm hoping that you'll text me and let me know if there's a day next week when we could have you two over for dinner?"

"Mr. Castle, that's really sweet, but really unnecessary," Dr. Eaton stumbles.

"Nonsense. And it's Rick, remember? As long as you don't think it will set her back, I'd love to see how Brooke's doing outside of the precinct, once things settle down," Castle offers. "Just give it some thought. I'll probably be gone for a couple of weeks afterwards, so if we don't connect next week, we'll find a good time. Now, you two had better go relax – looks like someone could use a little nap," he says, his look shifting from Brooke to her mother.

"Yes, Rick, and I'm sure Brooke could do with some rest, too. I get it. You're much more subtle in your books," Dr. Eaton says with a smile, as she gives Castle a hug. Brooke, on her mom's hip also reaches over to Castle, so that the three stand in a joint embrace.

Pulling away slowly and turning to Beckett, Dr. Eaton extends her hand. "Thank you, Detective Beckett, and your colleagues, too. I'm so happy and so thankful that you were there to protect my daughter."

"It was our pleasure, Dr. Eaton," Beckett says with a smile. "My Captain wanted me to pass along her regards, too. If you need anything, or are worried about anything, please give us a call. Have you got a way home?"

"Yes," Dr. Eaton says, "the FBI has a car downstairs. One with tinted windows, thankfully."

With that, Dr. Eaton turns to walk toward the elevator. But Brooke tugs free of her mother's hand and breaks away, running to Castle for a last hug.

"Goodbye, Angel," Castle whispers to her softly. "You take good care of your mom." Then, with a gentle kiss to her forehead, Castle lifts the girl into her mother's arms and watches as they make their way to the open elevator. Brooke is still waving to Castle when the doors slide closed.

"You okay there, partner?" Beckett asks, her tone light but her question serious.

"Of course I am, Beckett," Castle replies, bucking himself up. "We manly-men are impervious to tearful departure scenes."

"Is that right? Well come on, 'manly-man,' let's see how you hold up to a lunch interrogation. I _still_ want to hear about how you cracked the case," she replies.

"You're a dog with a bone, Beckett," Castle huffs in mock frustration. "Let's grab some lunch. But before we go in with the boys, can I ask for one quick favor?" At her nod, he continues: "If Dr. Eaton takes me up on my dinner offer, would you please join us? I'd like to keep you a part of this."

"Any other reason?" Beckett asks, suspecting an ulterior motive for his request and wondering how direct he'll be in response.

"Yes, Detective, very astute," Castle replies. "As much as you have an open invitation, I'd specifically like you at that dinner to affect the dynamic. I want to see Brooke again and want to make sure that they're doing okay, but I don't want create any confusion or expectations. Trust me, I know very well how little girls can break their hearts trying to match-make for their single parents."

This is the favor? Beckett is happy to run interference, but she doesn't have to let him have it easily. "So, manly-man wants to use me as a shield from the scary lady?" Beckett teases while missing Castle's reference to a situation in which he and Alexis had found themselves.

"Something like that," Castle says, deciding to embrace the light mood. "You saw my rendering of you in my drawing – you're my knight, you need to protect me," he says with a hint of a whine.

"Funny, I thought Alexis was the princess in that picture." At Castle's chuckle, Beckett continues. "Sure, Castle, I'll help you out. But it'll cost you. You mentioned planning the dinner around some time you'll be away. What's that about?"

They are about to reenter the conference room, where the boys are already laying waste to the lunch spread, but the question prompts Castle to stop in his tracks. "That goes back to the fancy suit meeting. Let's talk about that later?" Castle says. This comment renews Beckett's previous concerns about Castle's professional maneuverings, but she shelves those thoughts for now.


	10. Chapter 10

Disclaimer: I do not own Castle or the characters used in this story.

_They are about to reenter the conference room, where the boys are already laying waste to the lunch spread, but the question prompts Castle to stop in his tracks. "That goes back to the fancy suit meeting. Let's talk about that later?" Castle says. This comment renews Beckett's previous concerns about Castle's professional maneuverings, but she shelves those thoughts for now._

* * *

"Nice of you boys to save us some lunch," Beckett says sarcastically as she enters with Castle, noting the partial devastation of the lunch spread.

"Come on, Beckett," Ryan replies. "Castle got enough for at least eight people."

"Yeah, and he bought vegetables," grumps Esposito. "Trust me, there will be plenty of those left. And salad! Who gets vegetables _and_ salad? That's like … it's like … it's like getting a burger but replacing the meat with another slice of bread. It's a breadburger. Seriously, who'd eat that?"

Laughing at Esposito's previously hidden aversion to vegetables, Castle decides to poke the bear. "The vegetables were for lunch, Espo. But, the salad is for dessert."

"No. Just no," Esposito grimaces while shooting Castle a look of utter disappointment. "Are you dating someone? Dudes only voluntarily eat vegetables when they're whipped," this statement is accompanied with a look toward Ryan, who crams an overloaded fork full of salad into his mouth before bestowing the biggest smile he can manage while keeping his mouth closed. "You disappoint me, Castle. Vegetables, salad, singing, hair braiding. You're beyond whipped. Too much time surrounded by estrogen."

"Javi, I think you might want to go easy on the estrogen comments," says Ryan, casting Beckett an uneasy look and noticing her upraised eyebrow.

"Beckett doesn't count," Esposito says while still unaware of the danger. Inside, Castle revels in delight and prepares to watch the show.

"Excuse me?" Beckett's voice is quiet but cold.

From his facial expression alone, it's possible to pinpoint the exact millisecond that Esposito realizes his mistake. "I mean, I don't think of you as a woman," Esposito fires off.

"Really." Beckett's voice is even colder. It's not possible to tell if she's playing with her plastic table knife to intentionally threaten Esposito or if this was just a natural reaction.

"No! No, I mean you're obviously a woman, you're just not soft or anything." Esposito hasn't even finished this line before he realizes that he's just digging the hole deeper. "Not that women are soft! They're harder than men!" he's just rambling now, mouth completely divorced from brain.

Castle and Ryan can't take it anymore. Both bust out in laughter, which Beckett quickly joins. Esposito still looks flummoxed, not quite sure how things spiraled out of control so quickly, from berating vegetables to jeopardizing his safety.

Just as things are calming down, Ryan mutters something about wondering how Esposito's dates must go if that's his view on physiology, which restarts the laughter.

Finally, Esposito sits back, looking chagrined. Desperate to switch topics, and maybe to exact a little revenge, he thinks of a way out: diverting attention back to Castle. "So, bro," Esposito starts while looking at Castle. "Are you going to sit there and goof around or are you finally going to tell us how in the hell you figured this out?"

His question has the desired effect, but it's too abrupt. The exuberant laughter that was releasing the tension of the last few days ebbs quickly, replaced by looks of quiet curiosity. All eyes shift back to Castle.

"I've been thinking about how to explain this," Castle says as he takes his plate and sits at the table. "I need to start by saying that I didn't know I had it figured out until I was in the box with Manelli," he says, referring to Davis by his actual surname. "Up until then, it was a crazy guess – wilder than the theories that I toss out for fun when we start a case."

"So, you admit that most of your theories are crap?" Esposito says, deeming it worth slowing down the story to secure this admission.

"Of course not. Who said that positing wild but viable theories isn't fun?" Castle returns easily.

"Anyway," Castle says, turning back to his story. "I had just taken Brooke back to the lounge ahead of the last interrogation when the pieces started falling into place. A few things were bothering me, but it had all started by thinking about theft. Why do people steal things?" Castle asks rhetorically. No one offers and answer, wanting Castle to provide his explanation and hoping that he zeroes in on the specifics in short order.

"It seems to me that there are two main reasons to steal: either the object has value to you, or it has value to someone else. The first answer doesn't explain Brooke," Castle starts, then changes gears when he notices that Esposito is about to interrupt him. "We'll get to Brooke's identity in a little bit."

"'A good story has the right pacing, and we're building towards Brooke's chapter'?" Beckett says, quoting Castle's line from the interrogation.

"Exactly," Castle replies with a wink. "Being taken for her captor's value isn't consistent with what we found in the condo – locked away, not used (thankfully), not sold (again: thankfully). She was just waiting."

"So, I thought that Brooke was taken because of her value to someone else. That might be kidnapping for ransom, but we didn't see any evidence of proof-of-life materials, cameras, or the like. So, while it was still possible, kidnapping didn't seem to fit. That left extortion – taking her as leverage to obtain something else," Castle concludes.

"That didn't narrow the field though, even if it was right. Maybe her mom was a business person with access to confidential information or trading accounts. Maybe her dad was an admissions director at a highly selective school. Maybe either parent was a politician. There were so many directions to go," Castle goes on, sounding a little bewildered, harkening back to his thoughts at the time.

"So, I used our time together to test my theories," Castle continues. "I sang songs and TV themes, I recited movie lines, I showed pictures on my laptop, anything to try to spark a reaction. I tried every school song I could think of, then followed with pop and camp songs. I sang in English, French, and terrible Spanish. When she slept, I went online to see if there were any votes on controversial legislation pending at the city, county, or state levels. My only guess was that she probably wasn't wealthy – none of the private school or camp songs seemed to resonate, but many of the TV show themes did. The political angle didn't seem to work, either, though that's not really my forte."

"Yes," Castle interjects while looking at Ryan, "it was completely uninformed guesswork, all based on my gut reactions as a dad more than anything else. If I thought about tampering at this point, it was only as an entry on a longer list of theoretical explanations of an extortion plot."

"Castle, why didn't you pull me into this?" Esposito says, sounding petulant. "I was running point on the girl's story and we didn't go in this direction at all. Pending legislation? Camp songs?"

"Espo, I'll apologize for keeping this to myself if you can honestly tell me that you wouldn't have blown this off as a crazy theory," Castle says in a surprisingly kind voice. "We both know you would have, and that, based on the odds, it would've been the right thing to do. Or at least justifiable. I had nothing but suspicions and conjectures. You don't trust me enough to accept those alone, without evidence."

Esposito now looks highly uncomfortable, but he's not denying Castle's accusation.

"And, again, that's fine," Castle continues. "We all know I'm not a cop. I don't have the same training or experience, and that makes trusting my instincts difficult. But I do have to admit, I'm wondering how long it'll take before I get some benefit of the doubt."

Castle pauses to take a bite of lunch and wash it down with some water. The detectives remain quiet, thinking about the exchange and each taking stock of their views of Castle, wondering about how much of what he said to Esposito applies to each of them.

"I was still wondering about possible extortion motives when two things happened," Castle resumes, providing a respite from the introspection. "First, you nabbed Davis," he says while looking at Esposito. "He's not a thug. He's calm, educated, and self-assured. There was nothing specific, and I know that criminals take all shapes and sizes, but he bolstered my thought that this was a kidnapping to achieve some larger goal. The care in hiding identities, the confidence in dealing with local and federal law enforcement, it pointed to more … sophisticated criminal activity. This knocked kidnapping for ransom off the list for me. As good as Davis was, the architecture around demanding and collecting a ransom would have been in place and impressive."

"The other thing that I kept puzzling over," Castle continues, "was Brooke's silence. The longer it persisted, the more I thought that it probably predated her kidnapping. That got me wondering about who would know about it. At the hospital, the doctors told us that there was no physical reason for it, concluding that it is likely a mental or developmental issue, potentially the response to a traumatic emotional event."

"It was," Beckett offers, providing no additional details.

"So, who would know about her lack of speech? The girl's family, obviously. But beyond that? Maybe her regular pediatrician, but those files are supposed to be confidential. Her parents' coworkers? Maybe if they are close, but if the condition resulted from trauma, maybe not. Maybe her friends or schoolmates, depending on how she interacts and how involved she is outside of school or daycare. I started thinking about situations in which a parent would share this kind of information. I imagined what I would have done if it was Alexis. The list of who people to whom I'd volunteer this information was pretty short: school, caregivers, and maybe activity directors, if she participated in any."

"That still didn't help much," Castle continues. "Given her lack of response to school songs and things like Girl Scout camp songs, I was back at square one." He sees Esposito's raised eyebrows and says, "Yes, 'Sito, you can add knowing Girl Scout camp songs to your list of my effeminate traits."

"But this brought me to the breakthrough: what unusual circumstance would _compel_ me share this kind of information about my child? When would I _want_ to volunteer that information to someone outside the circle of my life? Maybe when I had to inform someone in authority, or when doing so would help me in some way? These thoughts converged on jury service. Potential jurors need to disclose significant responsibilities that might impede their ability to serve. Or, someone looking to avoid jury service might claim personal hardship. That's how I landed on jury tampering, just after Beckett went into the box with the faux Davis," Castle finally concludes.

"So you had no idea that the tampering charge would stick?" Esposito asks. "Those are some steel cojones, bro. From where we were sitting, it looked like you had it all figured out."

"No, not even close," Castle admits. "Which brings up another glaring problem, which no one's called me on, yet."

"The boss," Beckett realizes immediately. "You couldn't have known which trial Davis was trying to affect. You bluffed him."

"Hey, I told him I liked poker," Castle starts. "Yes, I bluffed him. That's why it was important for me to drop Brooke's name before we got to the tampering discussion – he assumed that if we knew her name, then we knew her connection to the jury. But we hadn't gotten that far by then. So I had to tread lightly. It's why I never used any gender-specific pronouns when talking about the tampering case – it was always 'benefactor' and 'associate.'"

"Only you, Castle, would focus on grammar as an interrogation technique," notes Ryan.

Still hungry and a little hoarse from his long speech, Castle tucks into his food while Beckett and the boys think about what he's offered. It's a crazy succession of intuitive jumps that could have easily gone wrong. Beckett looks at Castle, studying him while he eats. He actually looks … nervous? Embarrassed? She's not sure, but Castle is withdrawn and slightly flushed. She would have predicted that he'd be strutting on the basis of this success, but his reaction is entirely different.

"Castle," Beckett calls to get his attention. "What's up? Why so uncomfortable?"

Exasperated that she knows him well enough to call him out, Castle caves. "Because it's all so unlikely. There's no logical chain of events, no deductive reasoning here. It was all free form, open consciousness luck. I was convinced that Davis would just give me a blank stare when I hit him with the jury tampering charge, and then laugh. I can dress it up all I want, but it all comes down to a lucky guess and crafting a story on the fly."

"You know as well as the rest of us that intuition plays a critical role in what we do," Beckett offers in a soothing voice. "We all follow our gut instincts – that's what distinguishes the good investigators. That, and maybe an ability to recognize the value of others' instincts."

Smiling shyly in response to her praise and recognition of his earlier admonishment to Esposito, Castle is caught short by Esposito's interjection. "So, was it a gut reaction that told you Brooke's name? Can we turn the damned page and get to that chapter yet?"

Castle chuckles while standing and heading for the door. "Be right back, this one requires visual aids."

* * *

Castle returns in less than a minute with a poster tube clasped in one hand and his satchel in the other.

"I mentioned all the songs I tried to help establish her name or something about her," Castle starts to explain while pulling rolled papers from the poster tube. "We also tried other activities, including drawing and coloring. Beckett, you won't believe it, but you were there when Brooke told us her name."

While he says this, Castle lays out two drawings on the side table – the same two pictures that Beckett judged during the "draw-off." The boys and Beckett stand and walk over to take a closer look while Castle uses some of the paper plates from lunch to pin down the curling corners of the drawings.

"Angel – Brooke – was uncomfortable drawing when we started. So, we did a couple of rounds to warm up. We started with our favorite food. That's why you got a picture of a birthday cake from her," Castle says while looking toward his partner. "Then we did houses. Round three was a park. Quick, Beckett, what was round four?" Castle asks her, putting her on the spot.

"Um," Beckett stalls, before looking at Castle's picture makes it click: "Your names?"

"Exactly," Castle says with a grin as he points to his drawing. "I'm Castle," he says, while gesturing broadly at the castle in the drawing. "I work for Gates," he says while pointing at the portcullis. Ryan groans at the visual pun.

Esposito is confused as he looks at the other drawing, the nature scene that Beckett declared the draw-off winner. "Okay, I'm not seeing it, Castle."

"Remember this: Brooke isn't developmentally delayed, she is not impaired. Something prevents her from speaking, but she was smart enough to want to help us, once she felt safe. She wanted us to figure out who she was and how to get her home, I just had to figure out how to let her help," Castle's unconsciously letting his hand drift over the drawings during this preamble.

"Bonus round, Beckett," Castle again puts her on the spot. "What did I ask Brooke to do when we stepped out to discuss the case?"

Casting her memory back, Beckett recalls, "You asked her to fix your drawing, didn't you?"

Castle nods as he points to his drawing. "What did she fix?"

Beckett might have aced the first two questions, but now she's at a loss. "Sorry, Castle, I don't see it. What am I missing?"

"The brook," he says while he points to the blue line that starts at the side of the drawing and merges with the moat. He lifts his finger and moves it to the other drawing to land on the blue line that fed into the lake.

"That's it? You got that from a thin blue line?" Ryan asks, sounding half disgusted and half impressed.

"The 'thin blue line' – appropriate for a police investigation, right?" Castle asks. "Come on, this is the smallest intuitive jump we've discussed. We were drawing pictures of our names, and when I asked her to fix mine, she drew her own name into it. I knew her name wasn't River or Stream. You should have seen her smile when I asked if her name was Brooke – it was beatific."

"Lucky her name wasn't Gertrude," offers Espo.

"Or Penelope," Ryan offers.

"Or Katherine or Alexis or Martha? Yes, it was lucky. I think she would have figured out a way to get her point across, but it might not have been in time to hold onto faux Davis," Castle says. "Besides, this was my backup plan," he sheepishly admits. "I didn't realize that my first effort had failed more spectacularly than I thought, but…" he trails off as he reaches into the satchel and extracts a pink and blue book entitled 'The 10,000 Best Baby Names.' "I can't believe that I didn't think of this while we were still at the hospital, but I had Alexis buy one and drop it off for me. We went through it a bit, but Brooke got frustrated quickly. Which makes sense, in retrospect. I thought she was bored, but she probably got frustrated when we went through all the B's and her name wasn't in here."

"So, after all this," says Castle, waving his arm to encompass the papers, the book, and the room, "I had a first name and a theory about why she was taken, but we were running out of time. Seemed like a fair guess. I convinced Brooke to stay with Williams – much easier than I thought it would be, since figuring out her name seemed to give her some faith in me – then pled my case quickly with Gates. You know the rest," Castle concludes.

The team goes quiet again as they think about the story. A knock at the door reveals Officer Jim Talbot. "There's a press conference on the case in fifteen minutes," he says. "We're tuning it in on the bullpen TV."

"Thanks, Talbot," Ryan says. "We'll be there in a few minutes."

Castle returns to his lunch while the others are still thinking about the case. Castle expected an interrogation, or at least "aggressive questioning," but the question that finally comes isn't what he expected.

"Dude. What the hell?" Esposito asks, while pointing to his head (with tiara) in Castle's drawing.

"Huh, that's odd," Castle says while pretending to squint at the drawing. "I guess Brooke must have added that when she fixed my drawing. It does really bring the whole picture together."

"Seriously, Castle?" Beckett asks, "Hiding behind the little girl again?"

Castle grins but his response is cut off.

"What I still don't understand," Ryan interrupts the teasing, "is how this all started. How did you find her? How did you know she was there?"

"Haven't you ever been in a room where it's too dark to see but you still know someone is there?" Castle asks.

Without realizing it, Castle lowers his voice. "Even if that person is silent, the mere presence alters the acoustics of the room. It disturbs the airflow. It screams to our ancient, visceral defense mechanism as nerves prepare to flee the danger in the dark." This last line, delivered by the "Master of the Macabre," would do any ghost story proud.

"Thanks for providing the voiceover for my nightmares, Castle," Ryan says, looking a little disturbed. "So, you just … felt … that someone was in the condo?"

"Sure," Castle says easily, "or maybe I heard something. That's why we did the second walkthrough. Then, when the floorplan anomaly became apparent, it all came together."

"As long as we're here, tell me this," asks Beckett. "What was the first book you pulled from the shelf?"

Castle gives an embarrassed sigh while rubbing his face. "That was stupid. I was overthinking it, trying to be too clever. I sat there and thought about the books that were there, the genres, the vintages, the bindings. One seemed different from the rest and was a book that you might expect to find on an average bookshelf, so it could hide in plain sight." Castle pauses to see if anyone guesses.

"The bible?" Beckett hazards.

"The bible," Castle confirms. "Which is why it was stupid. Of course it looks different. People splurge on bibles. The want them to last. They want to pass them down to their children. It might be more surprising if it _did_ fit in with the other books."

"So then, saddled with my new sobriquet," Castle says, cutting a look at Espo for his 'Sherlock Mansions' comment (that he secretly liked) while Ryan whispers "nickname" to a confused Esposito, "I thought about it more logically. If there was a switch plate or pressure release switch, where would it make sense to place it in the structure of the bookshelf? From a design standpoint, it was obvious."

"Oh yes, clearly obvious," Beckett says while waving her hands airily. "As if we were all about to reach the same conclusion."

Finally growing weary of being the center of attention and anxious to hear the press conference, Castle brings things to a close. "Come on, let's go see what we're telling the press about this." The others rise as he sidles back to the side table. "I'll catch up after I pack these up," he says, referring to the drawings. "I'm having them framed."


	11. Chapter 11

Disclaimer: I do not own Castle or the characters used in this story.

_Finally growing weary of being the center of attention and anxious to hear the press conference, Castle brings things to a close. "Come on, let's go see what we're telling the press about this." The others rise as he sidles back to the side table. "I'll catch up after I pack these up," he says, referring to the drawings. "I'm having them framed."_

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Given the magnitude of the case and the 12th's role, the bullpen was as full as Castle could remember seeing it. Talbot was standing on a chair, trying to knock some life into and static off of the decrepit television mounted near the ceiling. Deciding that the reception was as good as it was likely to get, Talbot nearly topples over while standing down from the chair, to the cheering catcalls and taunts of his colleagues.

Castle wanders over to join his team, stepping into a space between Beckett and Ryan. There are calls for someone to raise the volume as the press conference prepares to get underway.

It's an impressive display for the press conference. There's a podium on red-carpeted stairs outside of One Police Plaza, the heart of police operations in New York City. The Police Commissioner stands at the podium in full dress uniform. Flanking him are the Mayor and District Attorney to his left and Captain Gates and Agent Wilson to his right. Calling for a mid-afternoon conference means that the sun is high overhead, eliminating the threat of squints marring close-ups during the conference and basking the assembled VIPs in a flattering, buttery light.

Beckett feels a quiver of cynicism as she imagines the press consultants who probably selected the wardrobes, the positions, and the postures of all on camera. Chastising herself, she admits that this isn't just a PR event, it's real. It's a chance for the police to tell the people of New York about terrible crimes that were stopped. It's a chance to show that there are examples of success to contend with the negative stories that seem to command headlines so easily.

"Ladies and Gentlemen, Citizens of New York City," the Commissioner begins. "It is my honor and pleasure to inform you of significant arrests made by New York City officers earlier today. Thanks to the efforts of detectives from the NYPD's 12th Precinct…" – at this, a small cheer breaks out in the bullpen, rapidly hushed so as to not overwhelm the television's meager speakers – "… with the cooperation and assistance of the Federal Bureau of Investigation, we have arrested more than 10 conspirators on charges ranging from kidnapping, extortion, obstruction of justice, and jury tampering. Most notable among those arrested is Leonard Cartwright, III, who had already been arrested for fraud and embezzlement, and two members of his legal team."

"These arrests," the Commissioner continues, "represent a significant victory for the people of New York. They show that those who let their greed run rampant, those who assume that they can buy justice, those who think they can use their money or status to bully and threaten are instead accountable to the very people they seek to harm."

"Getting a little deep around here," Castle mumbles before suffering a sharp Beckett elbow to his side.

"These arrests," repeats the Commissioner, "also demonstrate our ability to combine the efforts of law enforcement from multiple agencies and jurisdictions in order to protect our citizens. While these arrests started with an investigation by the NYPD," – quiet cheers in the bullpen again, while Gates noticeably straightens on screen – "the ensuing investigation drew in and benefited from the participation the FBI and agents from the US Securities and Exchange Commission. Since that terrible day when we joined the ranks of cities that have suffered from who those seek terror rather than justice, we have worked assiduously to provide a seamless network to thwart criminals of all types. Today's arrests show the great advances that we have made to protect our citizens."

"Seriously – 'assiduously'? _'Thwart'_?" Castle says while protecting his ribs, "I was right here all day, and they couldn't have called? Who wrote this speech?"

After a brief pause to collect the applause of those attending the press conference in person, the Commissioner rounds into his conclusion. "No less valuable to the citizens of New York are the efforts of the District Attorney's Office, which now takes up the responsibility of prosecuting those arrested today. It is the work of many months to bring the justice we seek, that we demand, and we took our first steps on that path today. My thanks, and that of the citizens of New York, goes out to the NYPD, the FBI, the SEC, and all others who contributed to this effort."

With this final statement, a young women in an immaculate suit darts up the steps and stands next to the Commissioner, leaning into the microphone to say "With that, and understanding that the NYPD cannot comment on the details of ongoing investigations or prosecutions, the Commissioner is available for a brief question period." With that, the PR director steps to the side but remains available to intervene based on time or inappropriate questions.

"Yes, Lou," says the Commissioner, pointing to a veteran reporter in the first rank of assembled media.

"Can you elaborate on the charges related to the jury tampering charge?" asks the jowly, disheveled reporter.

"I can confirm that five people, including Leonard Cartwright, were charged with jury tampering. I can also confirm that those charges are associated with different methods employed with the goal of affecting the outcome of a jury trial, including bribery, extortion, and kidnapping."

"Can you confirm that it was Cartwright's jury that was the focus of the tampering?" calls out a reporter from the scrum, not waiting to be called upon.

While this is a wasted question – after all, there was a significant media presence at the Cartwright trial when the mistrial was announced – it's still an opportunity for the Commissioner, who replies easily. "I can confirm that jury tampering charges affect at least the Cartwright matter that ended in a mistrial this morning. Karen," the Commissioner calls out another questioner, not waiting for someone to call out another question.

"Is it true that the other charges stem from a homicide investigation?" asks Karen Brown, a veteran reporter for the Ledger.

"Victoria Gates," the Commissioner calls out, "is the Captain of the NYPD's 12th Precinct. Captain, would you like to respond?"

Cool and confident in demeanor, Gates approaches the podium. "Yes, Ms. Brown, many of the charges resulted from the investigation of a double homicide that detectives from the 12th began investigating on Monday morning. Thanks to their diligence and effort, and with the subsequent assistance of the FBI," she says while looking to Agent Wilson, who tips his head, "the detectives secured a confession by Tuesday afternoon. That confession spurred subsequent inquiries that led to the charges described by the Commissioner." With her brief statement concluded, Gates steps back to the side and the Commissioner resumes his place at the podium.

"You're not getting much love from the boss, bro," Espo whispers to Castle, who simply smiles in response.

"Two more questions," chirps the PR director.

"William," calls out the Commissioner, gesturing to a local correspondent for a national news program.

"Commissioner," the reporter begins, "regarding the kidnapping charge: who was kidnapped and how was that situation resolved?"

"Happily," the Commissioner says with a grin, mugging for the cameras. "A child of a juror was kidnapped in an attempt to affect that juror's opinions. NYPD detectives rescued the child, who is now, I'm pleased to report, safely back at home."

"Last question," says the Commissioner. "Christine?" he says, looking at a local news personality.

"Thank you, Commissioner," she begins. "Richard Castle has shadowing members of the 12th Precinct's Homicide department for years. What role did he have in the activities that have been described today?"

"Victoria, would you care to comment?" offers the Commissioner, shocking many by ceding the last answer, the last opportunity for screen time, to Captain Gates.

While Gates makes her way to the podium, Ryan whispers to Castle, "Here you go, Castle."

"Did you bribe her to ask that question?" Beckett offers with a smirk.

Castle simply grins and watches the TV, wondering how Gates, hardly his biggest advocate, is going to handle this question.

"The 12th Precinct in particular, and NYPD in general, derive many benefits from Mr. Castle's presence. His stories offer an inside glimpse at the lives of dedicated law enforcement personnel and show the challenges that these remarkable people overcome every day in an effort to keep all of us safe."

Beckett, who had been very worried about what Gates would say, bumps Castle's shoulder with her own and offers a beaming smile. "Not bad, Castle," she offers.

"Mr. Castle is an excellent author," Gates continues. "He is not an officer. He did not leave the precinct headquarters for the bulk of this investigation. He is an observer, someone who can chronicle the successful investigation led by the trained men and women who make the NYPD a premier law enforcement agency. In common parlance, Mr. Castle is just along for the ride. I'm sure he would join me in directing praise for the success of these investigations to those he observes at the precinct and those other law enforcement personnel who were responsible for this investigation."

With her statement concluded, Captain Gates returns to her former position while the PR rep thanks the media for their attendance. Mayor Weldon has a political smile welded to his face, not offering any reaction to Gates' answer. On the other side of the podium, Agent Wilson offers a sly grin. Before she can check other reactions, the news affiliates cut away from the news conference and return to their regular programming.

Beckett is standing in place, shocked at how completely Gates mischaracterized and devalued Castle's contributions in general, and how she failed to recognize Castle at all for this case. Everyone involved knows that what's now known as the Cartwright Case was a tour de force for Castle. Without him, they wouldn't have found Brooke; wouldn't have captured faux Davis, wouldn't have broken him in interrogation, wouldn't have traced it all back to Cartwright. Beckett feels a little sick as she realizes how different things would be, how many lives could have been irrevocably altered, if Castle had chosen to remain in his business meeting on Monday morning rather than turn up at the crime scene.

That queasy feeling blossoms into revulsion as Beckett turns her thoughts to Captain Gates. Her statement is inexplicable. Was she building up the department to look good? Did she think hearing that a civilian made critical contributions to the investigation would undermine the public's faith in the department? Was she trying to limit Castle's clout? It doesn't make sense, Beckett howls to herself, especially because it will inevitably explode in Gates' face. Too many people know Castle's true contributions, too many people are interested in Castle, and the media is too intrigued by this story. There is no way that there won't be leaks and subsequent stories that contradict what Gates offered in the press conference.

Hell, even the department's records will show that Castle led the interrogation, Beckett realizes. Even if those records are unavailable to the public, they'll go to the DA's office, expanding the circle of those who know the full story. Then, add the ME's office, the FBI, the SEC, the officers from other departments who may have already talked, even in the unlikely event they'd be willing to remain silent now. No, it's inevitable that the true story will come out, and life in the 12th Precinct will be very ugly then, especially regarding Gates' views on Castle.

Maybe this is why Agent Wilson was smiling after Gates' answer at the press conference – could he have already foreseen the end game, where the tension Gates bought for herself today convinces Castle to explore the FBI's "opportunities"?

Turning to share her thoughts with Castle, she's surprised to see that he's not there. In fact, while she's been contemplating the press conference, the crowd in the bullpen has largely dispersed, though it's clear from the lingering pockets of conversation that she isn't the only one who is troubled by Gates' statements.

Casting her eyes around while walking back to the conference room, Beckett notices movement by the elevator. Inside, with a satchel over his shoulder, a poster tube in hand, and staring resolutely at the floor, stands a demoralized Richard Castle. Beckett calls out to him, tries to command his attention, to no avail. As the doors slide shut, Beckett's only thought is that she's never seen him look more crestfallen.

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**A/N: So ends "Just Along for the Ride." Technically, I think that the whole of the story could have slotted into Season 4 without diverging from canon. But I'm toying with the idea of AU follow-ups that pick up where JAR leaves off. After all, Castle's got opportunities to pursue, with people who might provide some appreciation for his efforts.**

**Many thanks for all the kind words and encouragement along the way. This first story was a bit of an experiment and the reviews and feedback made it a lot of fun. Hope you enjoyed the read.**


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